UC-NRLF 


SB    275    5T3 


HIM 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT  OF 


Class 


/*    #£  f  s&~r-**-4  '  t:* 


The  f)crmif 8  f)omc 

Grover  the  first 
Yosemitc 


AND 


Other  poems 


BY 

J.     VINTON     WEBSTER 

AUTHOR    OF    AUGUSTA,    ETC. 


SAN   FRANCISCO 


THE  WHITAKER  &  RAY  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 

1903 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1903 

*tfj>l  J.  VINTON  WEBSTER 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


Dedicated  to 

my  beloved  daughter, 

HELEN  WEBSTER  CLARK, 

Ever  kind,  gentle  and  devoted  to  those  she  loves* 


117536 


prefatory  J^ote, 


In  preparation  of  the  following  poems, 
the  chief  purpose  in  view  has  been  to  instill 
love  of  humanity,  love  of  the  beautiful  in 
nature  and  of  the  Divinity,  who  seems  to  be 
present  with  us  in  every  work  and  aspira- 
tion for  human  betterment. 

J.  V.  W. 


Index* 

THE   HERMIT'S    HOME, 9 

YOSEMITE, 109 

VILLE  DE  SAINT  NAZAIRE, 118 

THE  LOVER'S  FAREWELL, 124 

CARMENA'S  CURSE, 127 

MAY  DE  VERES, 131 

SOUL  HARMONY, 135 

TIME, 137 

EVIL  OMENS, 139 

LILLIAN, 143 

OLD  MAN'S  LAMENT, 145 

Music. 147 

THE  WATCHMAN, ".     .  148 

SHAKESPEARE, ,.     .     .     .  151 

SHALL  WE  LIVE  AGAIN? .     .     .  153 

GROVER  THE  FIRST, -*.     .     .     .     .,  159 


'Che  Permit's  F)ome. 


^ 

CANTO    I. 

•TY 

On  that  fair  eve 

The  hunt  had  spent  its  force  ;  the  tired  hounds 
Tracked  after  me  with  pant  and  lolling  tongues, 
Through  groves  of  noble  oak  and  hazel  hedge, 
That  grew  in  clumps  about  the  spurs  and  crags, 
Till  winding  on  beneath  a  rugged  bluff, 
My  pack  in  wonder  stopped  to  bay  a  hole, 
B-ockbound,  with  door-like  arch  and  slanting  roof, 
As  if  a  porch  way  to  a  pillared  hall. 

I  peered  within,  and  as  I  gazed,  I  saw 
A  frame  in  somber  dress  and  seated  on 
A  stone,  white-haired,  and  leaning  on  a  cane. 
"  Why  art  thou  here  in  this  lone  place,  amid 
These  rocks  and  rugged  hills,  brush-clad  and  crowned 
With  cedars  green  and  whispering  pines?  " 

He  sat  dumfounded  at  the  sight  of  such 
Intrusion,  rude,  upon  his  cavern  home. 
His  eyes  were  large  and  full,  with  austere  face, 
Deep-furrowed  with  the  rasping  years  of  time, 
Held  council  with  a  breadth  of  brow  that  told 
Of  thoughts  beyond  the  grasp  of  common  minds. 

An  age,  it  seemed,  he  sat  in  silence  there, 
And  then  it  did  appear  he  spoke,  but  yet 
No  sound  —  as  when  a  cloud  too  distant  for 
The  ear  to  catch  the  thunder  roll,  the  flash 
Of  light  that  blazes  on  its  front,  reveals 
A  power  there,  prodigious  in  its  wake. 

9 


10  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

la  this  suspease  that  told  upon  my  nerves, 
A  lark,  with  golden  throat,  essayed  to  sing 
His  mellow  evening  hymn  in  heather  high 
Above  the  cavern  door,  and  as  his  lays 
Rang  out  and  echoed  sweetly  up  among 
The  crowning  peaks,  the  hermit's  rigid  face 
Relaxed  into  a  smile,  as  when  the  moon 
Does  half  dispel  the  haze  of  dingy  night. 

"  Why  am  I  here,"  he  said,  "  alone  among 
These  uninviting  hills  ?     Come  in,  straoge  sir, 
And  since  you  stumbled  on  my  hiding  place 
And  do  persist  in  knowledge  why  I'm  here, 
And  since  you  seem  to  have  a  heart  not  prone 
To  gibe  the  bitterness  of  human  ills, 
I  will  confide  some  thoughts,  in  truth,  that  weigh 
Upon  me  heavily,  with  trust  and  hope 
That  such  revealing  may  you  serve  and  save 
From  many  troubles  common  to  your  lot.'' 

Reflection  sat  serene  in  every  line 
Of  that  grand  face,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  burn 
In  depth,  like  vestal  fires  never  quenched. 
With  amber  fingers  to  his  temple  pressed, 
Half  hid  within  his  flowing  hair,  white  as 
The  camlet's  silken  fleece  for  winter  clothed  ; 
With  left  hand  resting  on  his  sturdy  staff, 
Unbarked,  deep,  knotted,  curved  about  the  top. 

He  sat  and  forward  leaned,  mute  as  the  stones 
That  pillared  up  the  granite  hall,  with  eyes 
Bent  on  the  vale  below,  where  ran  a  stream 
With  shimmering  light  that  fleck  the  willow  boughs 
That  gently  swayed  as  fanned  the  evening  breeze. 

The  sun,  hazed  in  the  western  horizon, 
Seemed  like  a  ball  of  blood  which  whirled  above 
The  gleaming  sea,  that  sang  its  requiem 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  11 

To  all  the  dead  who  rock  forever,  prone 
And  pale,  upon  its  shining  coral  reefs. 

I  could  not  break  the  spell,  it  hung  about 
My  heart  as  if  a  dream  of  something  I 
Had  surely  seen,  in  fact,  or  shadow-land. 
At  length  he  turned  and  fixed  his  gaze  on  ine, 
Deep  set,  but  yet,  with  all,  so  kindly  that 
I  felt  assured  and  braced  myself  to  hear — 
As  one  who  hopes,  yet  fears  reality. 

"  I  trust,"  he  thus  begun,  "  No  idle  freak 
Has  brought  you  hence,  a  wilful  pry  into 
My  gloomy  life,  wherein  the  fairest  hopes 
And  bitter  wormwood  mingle  in  a  way 
Which  makes  me  wish  that  chaos  could  blot  out 
The  past  and  rescue  memory  from  all 
The  ills  that  weigh  like  lead  upon  my  heart. 

"  7Tis  true  I've  seen  the  roses  in  their  bloom 
And  with  the  sweet  incense  of  myrtle  for 
A  guide  to  deep  affection,  I  have  felt 
The  spell  of  woman's  love,  that  makes  full  bliss 
Or  narrow  hell  to  him  who  dares  to  claim 
The  shining  idol  of  his  callow  years. 

u  But  let  that  pass.     'Tis  gone  !     What  did  I  say? 
O,  what  a  wretched  man  I  surely  am  ! 
My  youth  was  spent  half-wild  and  proud  about 
A  growing  city,  further  east.     It's  name  ? 
It  matters  not — suffice,  it  bordered  on 
A  deep  and  placid  river  near  the  sea — 
A  mart  of  trade  that  sent  its  argosies. 
Like  phantoms  flying  from  the  fertile  coast 
To  traffic  largely  with  the  busy  world. 

u  Here  wealth  displayed  utility  and  pride 
In  massive  blocks  of  brick  and  granite  built, 
With  domes  and  steeples,  silver-lined, 


12  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

All  rivaling  in  growth  as  if  to  reach 
The  pinnacle  of  great  vanity. 

"  Then  to  rear  came  a  gentle  slope 
That  lifted  up  to  higher  levels,  decked 
With  fair  abodes  among  the  native  trees — 
All  interlaced  with  running  vines  and  banked 
About  with  flowers  most  profusely. 

"  And  in  the  distance,  where  the  city  lost 
Itself  among  the  wooded  hills,  there  ran 
A  range  which  seemed  a  backbone  of  the  world 
That  lifted  up  into  the  blue  of  God's 
Great  arch,  that  spans  this  little  sphere, 
As  does  some  canopy  a  grain  of  sand. 

"  In  this  fair  summerland  my  lot  was  cast. 
By  parentage  was  to  the  manor  born. 
With  leisure,  life  seemed  as  a  holiday, 
On  which  to  labor  counted  as  reproach. 

"  My  home,  pretentious  and  environed  with 
A  garden  rich  in  native  growth  and  sweet 
Exotics  from  a  hundred  sunny  climes. 
I  grew  to  relish  nature  as  the  birds 
That  swing  with  song  high  on  the  lofty  trees 
And  drink  the  streams  that  flow  like  moving  pearls 
Among  the  nodding  lilies  of  the  vale. 

"  My  drill  and  education  was  the  best 
The  city  could  afford.     My  father  wished 
Me  for  the  ministry,  and  often  on 
A  Sabbath  morn  would  bid  my  audience 
To  songs  and  prayer  within  the  steepled  church. 

"  But  then,  I  loved  the  music  of  the  groves, 
And  God's  great  temples  in  the  woods  so  well, 
That  lofty-steepled  sanctuaries  did 
Impress  my  simple  mind  and  heart  as  some 
Great  vaulted  catacomb,  much  like  unto 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  13 

The  silent  halls  of  Eserhadden,  where 
Sad  spirits  whisper  of  the  damned. 

u  I  much  preferred  the  simple  ways  of  Christ 
Who  gave  his  lessons  under  olive  trees, 
Or  near  the  summer  sea  of  Galilee, 
When  twilight  lingered  over  Bethlehem. 

11  While  thus  engaged  in  thinking  of  myself, 
And  manner  of  my  future  livelihood, 
An  incident  occurred  that  did  upset 
My  equipoise  and  sadden  all  my  life. 

"  'Twas  on  an  April  morning  blushing  in 
To  May.     The  Goddess  Dawn,  had  beckoned  up 
The  sun  a  little  way  and  as  his  eye 
Pursued  the  glowing,  nymph-like  form  above, 
He  sent  a  gleaming  ray  of  luming  light 
Toward  the  garden  where  I  stood,  and  then, 
The  tears,  fresh  fallen  from  the  weeping  night, 
Turned  into  jewels  on  the  blooming  rose. 

"  The  Daisy,  from  its  golden  disk,  peeped  forth 
With  dripping  eyes  as  turned  each  tear  into  ; 

A  glowing  rainbow,  miniature  in  form. 
The  Violet,  long  used  by  lo  for 
Ambrosial  food,  and  from  sweet  sherbet  which 
The  gods  in  truth  designed  for  cooling  draught. 


CANTO    II. 

"  As  nestled  they  upon  the  warming  earth, 
And  blushing  like  some  fai^  maiden's  face 
In  presence  of  the  one  she  dearly  loves, 
There  breathed  a  fragrance  not  in  words  to  name. 
And  just  beyond,  the  glowing  Myrtle  bloomed 
And  showered  forth  its  beauties  on  the  ground, 
As  when  in  rapture  Horus  gathered  them 
To  line  the  royal  way  which  Venus  trod, 
When  from  the  bosom  of  the  waves  she  came. 

"  And  so,  on  every  hand,  were  nodding  to 
Each  other,  jewels,  most  approvingly, 
To  all  who  had  an  image  in  the  heart, 
For  things  divine  in  ministry  of  love. 

' '  It  seemed  I  stood  in  dreamland  for  a  time, 
And  then  I  saw  a  form  upon  the  walk 
That  startled  me,  as  does  a  vision  on 
The  senses  creep,  of  something  fair  beyond 
Control,  and  spells  one  stolid  as  a  stone. 

"  A  little  hand  was  stretched  to  pluck  a  rose, 
With  wrist  and  arm  no  chisel  could  design; 
And  then  was  lifted  to  my  gaze,  a  brow 
I  cannot  well  describe;  suffice  it  then, 
The  glow  of  beauty  there  displayed 
In  form  and  face  and  every  movement  made 
That  seemed  a  witchery  of  flesh  and  blood, 
Contrived,  perhaps,  in  some  romantic  mood 
Of  Amphion,  with  harp  and  song  that  built 
With  exhalation  Thebes,  and  temples  grand. 

"  Comparison  sat  dumb  at  that  array, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  15 

And  cynicism  simmered  into  naught. 
Her  beaming  eyes  seemed  like  two  morning  stars 
Withdrawing  from  the  watches  of  the  night 
And  languid  with  the  trusty  vigil  kept. 

"  While  thus  confused  I  stood,  there  came  a  sound, 
A  murmur  seemed  it,  such  as  one  alone 
Does  sometimes  hear  in  dreams,  when  those 
He  loves,  draw  near,  in  faith,  to  comfort  him; 
And  in  its  melody  I  heard  these  words: 

"  i  Since  it  seems  this  fairy  place  is  not 
A  garden  grown  to  private  use  alone, 
But  broad  enough  in  heart  of  him  who  aims, 
To  let  the  world  in  rapture  gaze  upon 
The  beauty  centered  here,  in  betterment 
Of  soul  and  mind,  that  leads  to  higher  thoughts, 
I  beg  of  you,  who  seem  to  have  control, 
This  rose,  some  jasmine  and  just  a  sprig 
Of  that  fair  myrtle  bough  which  hangs  so  near.' 

"I  could  not  move,  but  seemed  entranced, 
And  for  a  moment  stood  like  one  in  sense 
Confused  by  sight  of  something  new  and  strange. 
My  tongue  refused  me  utterance,  and  yet 
I  reached  to  prune  the  jasmine,  and  then 
Meandering  about  the  myrtle  bough 
I  plucked  a  stem  of  crowning  shower  bloom, 
Which,  at  its  touch,  pearl  dew  drops  fell  upon 
The  earth  with  fragrance  in  their  dying  breath. 

"  And  then  advancing  to  the  rosebush  where 
She  stood  and  leaving  that  the  fairest  hand 
In  all  the  world  had  touched,  and  looking  for 
A  charmer,  found  a  cluster  growing  on 
A  single  stem,  just  budding  into  bloom. 

"  And  when  secured  the  three  she  named  in  one 
Embrace,  I  handed  her  the  gems  and  in 


16  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

The  act  sweet  vision  met  in  duplicate 

And  soul  to  soul  seemed  there  revealed  by  light 

That  trembled  on  the  morning  star  of  love. 

And  then  with  graceful  bow  and  smile  of  thanks 

She  left  me  standing  there  like  one  who  sees 

A  charm  or  rainbow  fading  from  the  sight. 

When  half  assured  I  was  not  going  daft, 

I  plucked  the  rose  she  touched  and  folded  to 

My  heart  as  fond  memento  of  herself. 

With  blissful  hope  that  she  might  come  again. 

"  Each  morning  when  the  dew  drops  sparkled  on 
The  bloom  and  fragrance  scented  all  the  breeze, 
I  clipped  the  fading  roses,  watching  all 
The  garden  walks  for  that  strange  apparition, — 
Substance  surely  seemed  it,  yet  in  truth 
So  fairy  like,  I  was  in  doubt  and  fear, 
Lest  solid  earth  gave  no  support  to  it. 

u  Thus  engaged  the  mornings  fled  as  came, 
Auroras  lead,  and  disappointed  in 
The  watch  I  kept,  with  hunger  in  my  heart, 
Withdrew  to  shade  beside  the  waterfall. 
And  yet  the  sight  I  longed  to  see  delayed 
To  come.     So  days  grew  lengthwise  into  weeks, 
And  when  despair  stood  in  the  breach  of  all 
My  hope,  she  did  appear  as  light  of  foot, 
As  does  a  water  nymph  that  leaves  no  track 
Behind  her  flowing  robes  and  sylph  like  form. 

"  She  seemed  so  much  at  home  and  glibly  talked 
Of  botany  and  all  the  glories  of 
Her  queenly  kingdom  while  I  cut  and  trimmed 
The  daintiest  voluptuaries, 
That,  in  fact,  I  lost  the  stupor  of 
My  comatose  and  gave  her  glib  reply 
And  compliment  when  dint  of  courtesy 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  17 

Most  finely  shaded  did  allow  the  glint. 

"  And  with  the  thanks  for  flowers  well  arranged, 
She  did  extend  her  shapely  hand  and  said: 
( We  live  upon  the  hill,  just  where  the  climb 
Grows  in  the  level  space  among  the  grove 
Which  Eros  planted  in  the  make-up  of 
His  morning  walk,  when  all  the  infant  world 
Was  stranger  to  the  vine  and  stately  tree; 
And  as  I  have  a  brother  studious 
And  schooled  in  many  things  that  seem  to  be 
Full  cousin  to  your  wish  and  bent  of  mind, 
Perhaps  it  would  be  time  unwasted  if 
You  chanced  to  call  on  him  for  intercourse.' 
It  was  enough  of  skillful  hint  to  me, 
And  thanked  her  did  I  graciously, 
As  one  who  feels  he's  reached  a  step  upon 
The  blissful  stairway  leading  to  the  skies. 

"  For  three  long  days  I  wandered  to  and  fro 
Around  about  my  home,  like  one  who's  lost 
Within  a  wood  and  sees  the  glintage  of 
The  sun  through  breakage  of  the  shim'ring  boughs, 
And  restless  that  he  cannot  reach  his  goal 
Before  the  glowing  light  of  day  is  gone. 
Discretion  kept  me  harrowed  thus,  because 
I  felt  a  rush  to  see  the  charmer  might 
But  willow  hedge  my  aim  and  hopeful  heart. 

"  The  third  day  waned  at  last,  the  evening  sun 
Seemed  loath  to  leave  a  land  so  sweet  and  fair; 
But  go  he  must,  and  wiping  dry  his  eyes 
Upon  a  silver  cloud,  and  gave  his  brow 
A  bath  of  shining  mist  to  soothe,  sustain, 
Then  slowly  sank  into  the  troubled  flood. 

"  The  time  had  come  for  action,  yet  my  nerves 
Were  tensioned  like  a  harp  with  keys  that  could 


18          POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

Not  hold  the  strings  ;  a  dose  of  anodyne 

Did  brace  me  for  a  dress  in  spotless  garb, 

By  sight  of  which  more  hearts  are  won  than  can 

Attain  the  solid  wisdom  of  the  world. 


CANTO    III. 

"  The  skint  of  night  had  harbored  in  the  vale, 
And  somber  Ammon  held  dominion  there 
Before  I  reached  the  hill  on  which  she  lived, 
*  Just  where  the  roadway  turned  among  the  trees,' 
All  interlaced,  it  seemed,  with  clambering  vines. 

"  The  house,  full  Gothic,  gabled  all  about, 
With  indent  of  veranda,  'questered  in 
Each  curve  and  turn ;  with  mullion  windows, 
Trained  around  with  jasmine,  potted  plants, 
In  every  nook  and  curve,  disabled  for 
A  larger  hold;  with  trees  of  stately  growth 
On  every  hand ;  and  garden  glories  strewn 
About,  as  where  sweet  nature  in  a  clime 
Of  tropic  sun  sheds  warmth  and  showers  on 
The  earth,  profusely,  as  the  heart  and  eyes 
Of  loving  Byblis  for  her  brother  Caunus. 
In  this  elysium  lived  my  charmer, 
Sweeter  for  the  sweets  surrounding  her. 

u  The  days  went  by  without  a  shadow  on 
Their  fleeting  wings,  and  all  I  do,  in  truth, 
Remember  of  them  is  that  as  they  sped, 
Sweet  incense  showered  in  their  balmy  wake. 
My  books  forsook  me  as  stern  judgment  does 
A  myth,  and  stared  from  every  shelf,  as  if 
To  say,  '  Leave  us  alone,  your  head  is  turned, 
And  till  your  senses  come  again,  presume 
No  handling  of  our  pages  while  in  love, 
For  solid  substance,  such  as  we  contain, 
Can  hardly  reach  an  appetite  that  feeds 
On  Julep,  mint  and  things  ambrosial ; 

19 


20  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

But  foolish  man,  remember  this :  The  time, 
When  hungered  you  will  be  for  other  food, 
Will  come  and  weigh  like  lead  upon  your  heart.7 
As  one  who  glibly  sails  a  summer  sea, 
Unmindful  that  the  monsoon  breeds  within 
The  torrid  zone,  I  laughed  the  warning  out 
Of  breath,  as  some  old  loon  with  upper  room 
To  let,  and  kept  the  giddy  pace  of  one 
With  goggles  on,  who  views  the  crumbling  earth 
Beneath  his  feet  as  fields  of  evergreen, 
Until  the  stumble  of  destruction  comes. 

"  The  climax,  autumn  spanned,  was  reached  at  last. 
Fair  Ceres  stood  among  her  golden  sheaves, 
The  fading  green  upon  the  rustling  leaves 
Denoted  change,  their  song  was  sad  and  in 
Their  yellow  melancholy  whispered  to 
Each  other  of  the  fall  awaiting  them. 
The  gentle  convolvulus,  winding  up 
Its  cups  upon  the  garden's  granite  wall, 
Entwined  about  with  spray  of  rosemary, 
Did  seem  as  if  in  faith  were  holding  forth 
To  me  a  bud,  while  stood  I  there,  and  she, 
With  downcast  eyes  and  sprig  of  myrtle  in 
Her  hand,  as  showered  on  the  earth  its  sweets, 
That  nimble  fingers  deftly  plucked  away. 

"  There  was  no  other  word  to  say  than  that 
Which  struggled  to  my  lips  for  utterance. 
It  came  at  last,  and  I,  upon  my  knees, 
Without  response  she  gave  to  me  her  hand, 
And  in  reply  I  held  the  jewel  to 
My  heart,  as  one  forgetting  all  things  else. 
The  rest  I  cannot  say — no  tongue  can  tell — 
Suffice  it  that  the  bliss  of  all  my  years 
Had  melted  into  one  delicious  kiss, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  21 

While  words  were  dumb  upon  my  fevered  lips. 

"  The  day  was  set  when  we  should  be  as  one, 
And  twine  our  souls  about  the  same  fond  hope, 
To  glide  along  the  coming  years  with  spring 
Forever  present  in  the  heart. 
Time  sped  on,  the  day  approached,  and  then 
There  came  the  dirge,  as  when  the  summer 
Fruitage  feels  the  chill  of  winter's  blast 
Without  a  note  of  warning  for  the  change  ; 
Or  as  a  malefactor,  high  in  hope, 
Is  dropped  through  darkness  on  to  hungry  hooks, 
When  all  the  world  is  blissful  to  his  sight. 

"  'Twas  on  an  evening  tide  that  sat  upon 
October's  rim,  while  raw- winged  winds  shook  down 
From  shrub  and  s tally  trees  their  yellow  leaves, 
Sad  emblems  of  decay  and  flight  of  time, 
When  Beatrice  said  to  me, — that  was  her  name — 
1  Dear  Leon,  do  you  know  there  is  for  you 
And  I,  a  double  welcome  down  the  way, 
Tonight,  at  Madam  Rollins,  where  the  stars, 
That  now  are  coming  out,  will  be  eclipsed, 
And  make  the  golden  sun  seem  dim  at  noon. 

"  1A11  the  fashion  and  elite  of  this 
Fair  town  are  certain  to  attend,  and  then 
A  Count,  late  of  Marseilles,  is  billed 
To  be  on  hand  with  gaudy  retinue, 
And  all  the  gems  and  silver-slippered  sweets, 
The  burg  affords  will  swing  in  retiform 
To  catch,  the  ambling  fortune  hunter,  with 
Gold  bricks  and  shale  of  great  gentility. 
Of  course  you'll  go,  for  ere  the  autumn  frost 
Is  gone,  we  will  be  wed  and  into  bed 
And  playing  cosily  at  hide  and  seek.' 

"  Of  course,  I  could  not  otherwise  than  go. 


22  POEMS   OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

It  was  a  brilliant  throng,  a  modern  day 
Affair,  in  which  the  ballroom  floor  was  but 
A  sea  of  whirling  silk,  too  short  above 
And  much  too  long  below,  as  when  in  glee 
Fair  Venus  makes  a  skirt  of  rainbows, 
Gathered  at  the  waist  and  all  above, 
A  glowing  mist  of  airy  nothings  set, 

"  My  winsome  love  was  fairest  of  them  all, 
A  gorgeous  piece  of  mechanism  where 
Sweet  nature  struggled  with  the  milliner 
To  gain  supremacy.     At  points  they  were 
So  intermingled  that  the  practiced  eye 
Was  doubtful  where  the  frilling  ended,  and 
The  solid  flesh  began  its  mastery. 

"  I  reeled  and  swung  with  her  but  once,  she  said 
I  was  too  slow,  and  hugged  so  tightly  too. 
She  never  lost  a  skip  till  daylight  dawned 
Upon  the  eastern  hills,  and  seemed  a  thing 
Of  meager  gauze  and  blushing  energy. 
The  Count,  superbly  dressed,  with  diamond 
Glitter  in  the  front,  and  waxed  mustache, 
With  parted  hair  from  crown  to  sloping  brow, 
And  counted  rich  in  lands  he  never  owned. 

u  And  seeming  like  sleuth  hound  full  on  the  track 
Of  some  large  game,  he  singled  out  my  love, 
As  does  a  trapper  after  otter  skins, 
Because  the  fur  is  fine  and  meat  the  best. 
The  Count,  in  prying,  learned  clandestinely,    • 
Her  father  was  a  multi-millionaire, 
So  vied  with  all  his  wits  to  win  a  gem, 
Profusely  jeweled  with  the  banker's  cash. 

"  Quadrille  did  press  upon  quadrille  and  waltzed 
He  did  with  her  some  dozen  times,  with  all 
The  grace  and  elite  of  a  nobleman. 


^ 
u 

THE  HERMIT'S  IIOMI-;.  23 

^   •  ••:'^ 

And  in  the  welcome  rest  between  the  heats 
I  caught  them  in  a  cosy  corner  with 
Their  nodding  heads  together,  like  two  doves 
That  bill  and  coo  the  fading  twilight  through. 

"  This  was  too  much.     The  shaft  of  jealousy, 
Distilled  in  gall,  did  send  its  poison  through 
My  blood  as  adder  sting  that  knows  no  cure. 
I  hid  away  from  sight  as  does  a  bird 
Deep  wounded  at  the  heart,  and  when  the  time 
Had  come  to  go,  she  bid  the  Frenchman  call 
On  her,  with  look  that  did  betray  a  sigh, 
As  when  one  longs  for  something  not  possessed. 

"  As  home  we  went  I  chided  her  for  such 
Display  of  freedom  with  a  stranger  Count, 
And  wished  to  know,  that  since  we  were  engaged 
And  near  our  wedding  day,  why  she  had  bade 
Him  urgently  to  call,  as  one  who  held 
As  souvenir  your  heart  and  household  keys. 

"  At  this  she  sulked  in  silence  for  a  time, 
And  then  with  blazing  face  that  paled 
The  rising  sun's  full  glare  upon  the  hills, 
She  said,  i  You  are  impertinent  beyond 
Endurance,  sir,  and  seem  to  think  I'm  but 
A  jug  of  common  pottery  or  urn 
In  which  to  store  and  hide  your  jealousy, 
And  bow  submissive  to  your  will,  as  one 
Who  bends  like  willow  boughs  before  the  wind. 
I'll  have  my  way  and  do  and  dare  my  right 
As  woman  free;  and  from  this  hour  call 
Engagements  off;  the  die  is  cast,  the  Count 
Will  take  your  place  with  winnings  on  my  side/ 

"  I  stood,  when  she  had  left  the  carriage  at 
Her  father's  home,  as  one  half  dazed— 
As  one  who  gathers  from  the  ground  his  limp 


24  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

And  trembling  limbs,  from  fall  prodigious  in 
Its  height,  and  staggering,  seeks  a  resting  place. 
I  sought  my  home,  the  cold  sweat  stood  upon 
My  face,  my  hands  did  shake  as  does  an  aspen 
When  a  storm  sets  from  a  brimming  sea. 

"  I  felt  a  choking  thirst  and  pain,  no  one 
Can  ever  know,  save  him  who  has  gone  through 
The  fate  of  love  without  a  recompense. 
A  raging  fever  came  upon  me  like 
A  venomed  wolf  upon  a  stricken  lamb. 
The  struggle  lasted  full  a  month,  and  more. 
The  mind,  with  balance  gone,  did  wander  like 
A  spirit  lost,  and  darkness,  woven  from 
The  sable  wings  of  night,  pressed  down  upon 
My  troubled  senses  like  a  canopy 
That's  fallen  from  its  shaky  moorings. 


CANTO    IV. 

"  O,  tbou  unending  Time  ! 
That  measures  minutes  and  eternities, 
The  gentle  balm  and  trouble  soother  of 
All  human  ills,  in  thy  embrace  I  found 
My  recompense,  as  when  a  grieving  child 
Seeks  consolation  on  its  mother's  breast. 
The  glowing  spring,  with  all  its  fragrant  blooin, 
Did  beckon  me  to  health  as  comes, — 
As  comes  the  weary  prodigal  to  share 
The  love  and  comfort  of  his  father's  home. 
And  in  this  waiting  on  sweet  nature's  process, 
Leaned  I  for  that  strength  that  comes  of  rest, 
As  does  some  ruined  pensioner  on  God, 
When  life  seems  but  a  blank  of  destiny. 

"  'Tis  true  that  reconciliation  with 
My  lot  was  hard  of  fair  adjustment,  for 
My  hopes  were  but  as  withered  leaves  strewn  upon 
The  ground  by  bleak  untimely  winds  before 
The  summer  had  matured  its  blushing  fruit. 
A  year  had  passed,  with  glimpse  of  sun  and  much 
Of  sable  wing,  since  first  I  met  the  charm 
That  kills  or  cures  a  potent  phantasy 
Which  runs  in  streams  that  float  the  fickle  ship 
Beyond  the  moorings  of  security. 

"Thus  hopes  are  shivered  into  atoms  by 
A  single  word,  and  darkness  settles  down 
Upon  a  soul  that  sees  no  light  beyond— 
Neither  had  she  sent  a  word  to  me 
In  all  the  weary  weeks  I  wrestled  with 

25 


26  POEMS   OF    LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

This  demon,  death,  and  striving  hard  to  hold 

My  mind  above  the  grasp  of  lunacy. 

I  saw  her  not,  nor  cheering  word  received. 

The  Count,  as  I  have  understood,  became, 

In  fact,  her  daily  escort,  rambling  where 

The  woods  were  green,  and  hand  in  hand  along 

The  shaded  stream  where  shining  pebbles  washed 

Their  faces  when  the  morning  sun  came  up. 

"  Conceiving  of  the  prime  advantage  that 
A  blue-blood  union,  coupled  with  the  name 
Of  *  Count '  would  give  their  daughter  in  the  world 
Of  strut  and  giddy  fashion,  sire  and  dame, 
Of  low  estate,  yet  rich  in  corner  lots 
And  bank  accounts,  were  anxious  for  the  trade, 
As  he  who  seeks  to  gain  a  blooded  horse 
With  lucre,  huxter  made,  and  filly  fair 
Of  mustang  breed. 

11  So  pledged  they  willingly  some  millions  cash 
To  bridge  the  gulf  that  sadly  separates 
The  clink  of  ducats,  vulgar,  from  the  prime 
Respectability  of  blooded  prince, 
Sprung  from  a  castled  Lord,  brave  in  his  own 
Defense  of  many  robberies. 

"  Beatrice,  it  seems,  in  wilful  mood  had  kicked 
Considerably  before  she  was  disposed 
To  pull  the  way  the  Count  essayed  to  go. 
It  does  appear  she  had  no  depth  of  love 
For  him,  and  doubt  of  happiness  did  make 
Her  saw  a  cord  of  boards,  with  sire  and  dame 
Before  she  gave  her  word  and  full  assent 
To  take  the  name  of  Countess  Halowell, 
And  make  abode  in  ruined  castle  on 
A  hill,  rock-ribbed,  with  scanty  shrubbery 
And  crumbling  walks,  on  which  the  skin-dressed  Lords 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  27 

Of  olden  time  had  broiled  and  eat  their  game, 
With  twisted  legs,  prone  on  the  stony  ground. 
O,  wonderful  indeed,  the  fool  a  man 
Can  make  himself,  when  crinolined 
To  dizziness  and  love-sick  to  the  eyes  ! 
If  he  could  ever  learn  to  bear  the  brunts 
Of  little  piques  and  spites  and  jealousies 
So  common  to  the  frilling  female  heart, 
And  always  have  the  wifc  to  smile  and  bow 
With  compliment  when  sore  and  angry  at 
The  sting  of  slight,  his  conquest  would  be  sure. 
Though  hedged  about  with  moat  and  brazen  guns. 

u  But  let  that  pass — all  opportunity 
Is  gone  to  rectify  the  errors  of 
A  day  distilled  in  bitterness  of  soul. 
Suffice  it  that  I  had  no  longer  hope. 
Nor  wish  to  prosecute  the  law,  which  I 
Had  chosen  as  an  aid  to  reach  the  round 
Upon  the  ladder  leading  up  to  fame. 
And  so,  ambition  sitting  in  the  dust 
And  playing  quits  with  all  the  bitter  past, 
I  quietly  disposed  of  walks  and  tenements 
And  lands,  at  prices  fair,  but  not  the  best. 

"  Then  packing  full  my  buckskin  haversack 
And  saddle  bag,  with  ample  blankets  rolled 
Behind,  I  mounted  Sanger — such  a  horse 
As  all  Bedouins  love  to  own  and  prize 
Above  the  shining  pearls  that  showered  on 
Fair  princess  of  the  East  by  lavish  hand, 
Or  tinseled  show  of  some  great  conqueror. 
Black  as  the  raven's  wing,  full-headed,  round, 
With  ample  girth,  broad  breast,  limbs  of  steel, 
Yet  nimble  as  the  antelope  that  runs 
Before  the  wind,  like  mist  in  shadow-land — 


28  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

My  sturdy  spenser,  breech  to  saddle  breach, 
With  muzzle,  stirrup  pointing,  handy  for 
My  major  hand,  in  case  of  urgent  need, 
To  manage  most  conveniently. 

"  Thus  mounted  on  my  charger  for  a  tramp 
That  spans  the  continent.     Good  Rover  stood 
In  wonder,  looking  at  my  'couterments, 
And  waiting  for  the  word  to  follow  on. 
Faithful  dog !  Newfoundland,  scanty  half, 
A  shepherd,  quarter,  and  the  balance  bull; 
With  hide  all  lined  with  silky  hair  that  grew 
In  spots  of  black  and  white,  with  here  and  there 
A  skint  of  glossy  tan,  that  came  to  him 
Legitimate,  upon  his  mother's  side. 
His  face  was  of  that  kind  that  plainly  gives 
Assurance  of  integrity  in  man  or  beast ; 
With  ample  brow  and  brownish  eyes  that]did 
Display  intelligence  that  plainly  said, 
As  any  words  could  tell,  '  You  are  my  friend 
And  loving  master,  be  thou  well  assured 
I  follow  wheresoever  leadest  thou, 
Though  lurking  death  be  in  each  track  we  tread/ 

"  A  narrow,  angling  pathway  followed  up 
On  easy  grade  to  higher  ranges,  checked 
The  steed,  and  turning  looked  we  down  upon 
The  city,  as  the  morning  sun  brazed 
Every  roof  and  dome  and  lifting  spire, 
Flaming  like  the  great  Promethean  fire 
God  kindled  on  Olympian  crags. 
I  blessed  the  gainly  town,  and  wept'at  my 
Discomfiture,  like  one  who  leaves  his  heart 
Behind,  in  search  of  desolation. 

"  Finally,  as  moves  the  mourner  from 
The  grave  of  one  he  loves,  I  faced  the  west, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  29 

As  singing  pines,  paused  in  their  morning  hymn, 
And  bid  the  blazing  sun  take  precedence 
Of  all  the  gentle  breeze's  murmurings 
Among  the  groves  that  crowned  the  azure  hills. 


CANTO    V. 

"  The  winding  way  we  diligent  pursued 
Across  sweet  streams  and  little  sunny  vales 
And  on  through  woods  that  knew  no  haunt  of  man, 
Through  brush  and  tumbled  trees,  wind  shaken  in 
The  storms  that  measure  potent  strength  with  Fo, 
And  when  the  day  had  spent  its  luming  force, 
With  stretching  shadows  lank  and  sere  among 
The  burnished  trees,  that  told  of  night's  approach, 
While  in  the  hushing  sunset  hour,  sat 
In  worship  of  the  failing  day,  there  came 
From  high  within  the  arching  limbs  a  sound — 
A  mellow  song  of  sweetest  praise  to  Him 
Who  made  them  in  the  early  ages  of 
The  world,  to  live  beyond  and  far  above 
The  troubled  lot  of  man,  who  knows  not  God 
Is  ever  present  in  his  works,  but  seeks 
The  talisman  of  happiness  in  grim 
Pursuits  of  wealth,  which  wither  in  his  grasp, 
Like  dead  sea  fruit,  that  in  its  bitterness 
Can  never  satisfy  the  fickle  heart. 

"  As  faded  tips  of  light,  and  haze  of  night 
Began  to  hang  like  mantles  in  the  woods, 
We  reached  a  little  vale,  cut  through  with  stream 
Of  shining  water,  singing  on  its  way 
To  meet  the  brimming  river  as  it  moves 
To  mingle  with  the  tides  that  rock  the  sea. 

"  Here  on  the  streamlet's  brow  and  gentle  slopes 
And  in  the  little  vale,  the  green  of  spring 
Just  budding  into  summer  bloom,  did  laugh 

30 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  31 

Upon  the  earth,  and  over  all,  the  oaks, 

With  outspread  arms,  ia  solemn  grandeur  seemed 

To  whisper  from  their  moving  lip-like  leaves, 

1  Peace  be  to  those  who  dwell  within  our  shade 

And  will  essay  to  worship  with  us  when 

The  evening  comes,  and  glory  in  the  King 

Of  day,  when  through  our  boughs  He  darts  His  shafts 

Of  gold  upon  the  sod  beneath  and  all 

The  floral  beauties  at  our  feet  do  send 

Up  incense  as  we  praise.7 

"A  little  fire  kindled  by  the  stream 
To  hold  a  shining  teapot  and  a  pan 
Did  seem  as  sacrilege  in  such  a  place; 
And  when  the  frugal  meal  had  passed, 
Its  licking  tongues  let  go  the  smutty  sticks, 
While  darkness  spread  her  mantle  in  the  vale. 
And  in  the  interval  of  pause  and  night 
Had  Sanger  fed  upon  the  grassy  slopes, 
And  being  sated  sauntered  up  to  us; 
With  shining  eyes,  and  rubbing  nose  upon 
My  knee,  did  say  as  nearly  as  a  horse 
Can  say,  l  How  much  I  love  thee  for  the  care 
You  take  of  me  and  to  allow  my  romp 
With  loosened  rein  upon  a  pasture  rich 
In  all  things  sweet  and  rare  ; '  while  Rover 
Came  and  cuddled  at  my  feet,  with  jaw 
Upon  his  brindle  paws,  and  looking  in 
My  face,  as  one  who  studies  into  depths 
Beyond  his  keen,  for  divination  of 
The  soul  of  man,  that  he  may  know  and  feel 
The  spirit  moving  there,  the  better  to 
Perform  his  ever  willing  services. 

"  There  and  thus  environed,  blanket  wound, 
With  overcoat  for  rest  of  head,  I  dozed, 


32  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

And  dreamed  and  looked  into  the  stellar  world 

Where  in  its  azure,  burning  lamps  hung  out, 

As  if  to  aid  the  pigmies  of 

This  world  to  learn  the  sober  lesson  of 

Our  littleness  in  God's  unending 

Universe  and  call  reflection  to 

The  phantasies  and  selfish  ends  we  seek, 

And  thus  to  give  us  more  of  heart  and  mind 

And  human  sympathy  for  pressing  ills 

That  others  bear  unceasingly. 

"  Most  commonly  the  sweetest  hearts  are  those 
That  suffer  most,  while  smiling  fortune  is 
The  honey-worded  dragon,  often 
Leading  down  to  cold  disdain  of  those 
Less  fortunate  in  worldly  things,  and  with 
A  smile  puts  off  distress  with  promises, 
Until  too  late  to  rectify  the  wrong. 
O,  man  !  of  but  a  day  upon  the  earth  ! 
Why  play  with  conscience  in  the  rush  for  gain 
And  dig  your  grave  upon  the  brink  of  hell  ? 

"  Thus  engaged  in  thought  the  dreamy  night 
Advanced  a  pace;  the  air  seemed  burthened  with 
The  hum  of  insects,  mingled  with  the  sound 
Of  rustling  leaves  that  stirred  and  fell  as  passed 
The  breezes  through  the  branches  of  the  trees. 
And  while  I  listened,  still  and  mute  to  all 
This  melting  harmony,  the  night  crow's  caw 
Was  heard  upon  the  hills,  and  then  in  sad 
And  rasping  cadence  came  the  whip-poor-will's 
Ungainly  call,  as  if  distress  oppressed 
Its  loneliness.     And  finally,  as  cap 
To  crown  the  glory  of  the  waning  night 
The  Philomela  of  the  ancient  world, 
In  all  the  sweetness  of  its  mellow  tones, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  33 

Far  back  in  darkness  of  the  somber  wood 
Commenced  his  saddened  lay  that  hung  upon 
The  ear  like  some  sweet  cadence  coming  from 
The  vale  of  childhood's  fairyland,  or  where 
The  blessed  forever  tune  their  harps  and  sing 
In  praise  and  presence  of  the  Infinite. 

"  How  long  these  charms  from  dwellers  in  the  vale 
Did  hold  my  spirit  wakeful  in  the  arms 
Of  sleep,  I  never  knew,  but  when  returned 
To  consciousness,  the  morning  sun  had  tinged 
To  gold  the  feathery  tops  of  all  the  pines 
That  grew  and  shimmered  on  the  mountain  crest. 
Good  Rover  stood  nearby,  and  with  a  whine 
And  paw  upraised,  seemed  anxious  to  direct 
Attention  to  the  singing  brook,  where  stood 
A  lovely  fawn,  so  trim  and  perfect  in 
Its  form,  that  Bonheur  never  painted  such, — 
With  slender  neck  and  head  and  ears  erect, 
And  yellow  eyes  most  prominent,  it  stood 
Upon  four  shapely  legs  that  shames  all  art 
In  reproduction  of  their  counterpart. 

"  Its  body  round,  in  color  spotted,  like 
The  sky  when  snowflakes  start  toward  the  earth. 
*  Buck-ague'  seized  good  Rover  in  the  joints, 
And  with  his  paw  uplifted,  pointed  to 
The  fawn,  as  if  to  say,  '  See !  there's  your  chance  ! ' 
I  shook  my  head.     He  then,  as  if  afraid 
The  fawn  would  see  his  moving  form,  crept  on 
His  haunches  to  my  gun,  and  placing  his 
Right  paw  upon  it,  gave  a  low,  deep  whine, 
With  look  surprised  at  my  indifference. 
I  shook  my  head  again,  when  he  did  growl, 
And  muttering  rage,  essayed  to  catch  the  fawn, 
Which  nimbled  off  in  graceful  leaps  and  bounds 


34  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

That  measured  land  beyond  my  view  before 
Poor  Hover  reached  the  running  stream. 

"  With  not  a  cloud  the  jeweled  day  wore  on — 
The  sun  had  traveled  in  his  car  of  state 
Across  the  sky,  and  now  was  looking  at 
Me  through  a  passing  ray  that  hung  upon 
His  upper  limb  as  sentinel  to  call 
The  busy  world  to  evening  vespers,  when 
There  came  in  view  a  fox  with  tired  pace, 
And  running  thwart  the  vale,  there  followed  it 
A  sable  bear,  full  tilt,  with  jolting  jumps, 
As  if  possessed  to  have  a  dinner  ere 
The  night  should  flood  with  darkness  all  the  world. 
My  gun  lay  handy  by  and  ere  the  cub 
Of  Bruin  bounced  his  prey,  a  shot  rang  out 
And  brought  the  king  of  Urus  to  the  ground. 
Before  I  reached  its  side  old  Rover  ran 
Ahead  and  putting  forth  his  paws  upon 
The  beast  did  laugh  with  lolling  tongue  and  in 
His  eyes  there  seemed  to  be  a  passing  thought 
That  plainly  said,  '  I  do  forgive  you  for 
The  fawn  you  spared,  for  now  we  have,  in  truth, 
The  better  game  to  feast  upon.7 
No  hunter  ever  bagged  a  finer  prize ; 
His  hide  ran  slip'ry  with  the  oozing  oil 
Before  its  final  severance  from  spine 
And  flaking  fats,  that  made  its  form  appear 
Like  some  prime  log,  rolled  from  the  hills  when  snows- 
Of  winter  feel  at  heart  a  gentle  thaw. 
Sweet  steaks  and  spitted  ribs  and  spicy  stews, 
With  watercress  and  baker's  bread  brought  from 
The  town,  surpassed,  it  seemed,  King  Arthur's  fare, 
In  olden  time,  when  skins  were  clothes,  ancT  men 
Of  greatest  estate  sat  by  l  the  table  round/ 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  35 

In  converse  of  the  chase,  with  mountain  goat 
And  venison  haunches  piled  to  make  the  feast. 


CANTO    VI. 

"  For  three  days  longer  lived  we  in  this  fair 
Abode  of  rest,  where  selfish  man  has  not 
Essayed  to  take  God's  beauty  from  the  earth 
That  lucre  might  accrue  to  lust  of  wealth. 
These  days  were  as  a  balm  to  me,  mind-sore 
And  harrowed  to  the  heart  with  false  conceits 
And  ruined  hopes,  blank  with  uncertainty. 
Each  amber  evening,  with  its  crescent  moon 
And  star-lit  canopy,  brought  back  the  hum 
Of  insect  life,  the  sound  of  rustling  leaves, 
The  qualking,  forked-tongue  crow,  with  echoes  from 
The  sad-mood  whip-poor-will  and  nightingale's 
Consoling  notes  of  sweetest  melody. 
Perhaps  it  was  ordained  that  each  should  take 
His  chalice  brimmed  with  gall,  to  learn  him  of 
His  littleness  and  cleanse  his  midget  soul 
Of  selfish  ways  and  struts  ungainly  made. 

"  'Twas  on  a  Sabbath  morning,  such  as  must 
Appear  in  Paradise,  where  flow  in  peace 
The  limpid  streams  with  verdant  slopes  through  zones 
Of  stately  cedars,  topped  with  mellow  light 
From  golden  suns,  steadfast  in  purpose  to 
Dispel  the  shadows  lingering  in  the  woods, 
That  we  essayed  to  leave  the  charming  vale. 
With  bear  meat  jerked,  and  hardtack  left,  some  ham 
And  condiments,  with  all  our  camping  traps, 
We  buckled  on  stout  Sanger  for  a  start. 

"  Still  sore  in  memory  for  all  I'd  left 
Behind — fond  friends,  and  many  talismans 

36 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  37 

Of  hope,  with  saddened  soul  and  heart  oppressed, 

And  mind  in  stagger  with  the  hard  resolve 

To  brave  the  wilderness  and  arid  plains, 

Least  common  to  the  haunts  of  men,  to  go — 

I  knew  not  where — perhaps  to  distant  shores 

That  border  on  the  Occidental  sea. 

I  made  the  mount  and  gathering  up  the  rein 

For  early  start.     To  my  surprise  I  did 

Observe  a  wood  lark  hopping  up  among 

The  branches  of  a  blooming  hawthorn  tree, 

Not  twenty  steps  away,  and  when  he'd  reached 

The  topmost  bough  I  noted  that  he  had 

A  broken  wing,  that  limp  and  sore  hung  from 

His  shoulder  blade.     A  moment's  rest,  and  then 

With  chirp  and  underwarble,  seemingly 

To  set  his  tune,  commenced  a  song  of  praise 

So  deep  and  soul-enchanting  that  I  sat 

Like  one  delayed  by  messenger  from  Him 

Who  seemeth  to  have  given  cadence  to 

The  warbling  bird  to  soothe  the  fevered  brow 

Of  care  and  fan  to  life  and  sparks  of  flame 

Hope's  dying  embers  in  the  troubled  heart. 

"  The  silver,  laughing  stream,  the  solemn  woods, 
The  echoes  from  the  hills,  seemed  drinking  in 
The  glory  of  that  tender  song,  as  if 
t  Amens,'  were  breathing  from  them  all. 
I  blessed  that  lame- winged  lark  that  did  forget 
Its  own  distress  in  that  sweet  hour  when 
The  lifting  sun  told  of  the  Infinite, 
Who  sanctifies  the  pure  in  heart  and  lifts 
Toward  the  upper  world  the  aspiration  in 
A  song  of  gentleness  and  praise. 

"  Consoled  and  comforted  by  that  sweet  song, 
Like  ^Eneas,  son  of  Ancheses,  sore  in  mind 


38  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

With  sable  hopes,  faced  westward  from  the  site 

And  ashes  of  Old  Ilium,  seeking  some 

Asylum  far  beyond  his  ruined  home, 

We  sped  our  way  through  pathless  woods,  deep  glen 

And  coves,  across  the  trails  of  man  and  beast, 

High  hills,  green  vales  and  dreary  waste,  where  skipped 

The  deer  and  blear-eyed  hare  through  stinted  sage, 

Sore  pressed  for  drink  and  substance  on  the  plain, — 

Some  day,  perhaps,  to  bloom  as  does  the  rose 

When  water  comes  and  tillage  takes  the  lead, 

When  happy  homes  shall  dot  the  land,  as  does 

The  whitecaps  line  the  mighty  sea. 

"  Then  on  and  on,  and  up  the  mountain's  slopes, 
And  on  by  crags  and  peaks  that  seem  to  hold 
The  upper  world  above  the  azure  vault 
Of  famous  Lebanon,  and  on  the  slopes 
And  levels  down  below  great  cedars  grow  ; 
Where  mountain  daisy,  primrose  and  the  crocus 
Intervening,  seemingly,  that  fair 
And  gentle  nature  in  her  grandest  courts 
Is  ever  anxious  to  display  her  love 
And  care  of  all  things  beautiful. 

"  We  paused  to  rest  and  worship  in  these  woods, 
In  grandeur  nearest  God  of  any  land, 
Left  on  the  earth,  unknown  and  scant  explored. 
Then  on  and  on  we  moved  by  narrow  trail, 
Unkept,  and  winding  down  the  mountain  side, 
Through  ancient  groves  and  dells,  by  singing  streams, 
Until  the  rolling  hills  and  sunny  plains 
That  stretch  to  westward,  lost  in  haze,  beside 
The  sunset  sea,  fell  on  my  vision  like 
A  fairyland,  or  Tadmor  where  the  palms 
Spread  forth  their  leaves,  inviting  to  the  shade. 

i l  Wearied  with  three  moons  of  lonely  tramp, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  39 

Through  every  phase  of  scene  and  varied  clime. 
At  last  we  found  a  little,  laughing  vale, 
With  western  outlook  on  the  shining  sea, 
In  length  a  league  and  scarce  one-half  as  much 
In  width,  with  soil  as  rich  as  skirts  the  Nile, 
And  climate  unsurpassed  upon  the  earth  ; 
Fine  clumps  of  oak,  as  if  on  guard  were  placed 
About  the  vale,  while  here  and  there  through  all 
Its  length  stood  single  sentinels  and  some 
That  seemed  relieved  of  duty  for  the  time, 
And  tattled,  two  or  three  together  in 
A  place,  like  busybodies  do  who  have 
Some  scandal  to  report,  in  whisper  or 
In  pantomime. 

"  A  limpid  stream  ran  near 
The  southern  verge  of  this  fair  land  and  on 
Its  brink  stood  willows  weeping,  alders  bright 
Of  trunk  and  limb,  and  frequently  a  clump 
Of  hazel  wood  and  hawthorn  thickets, 
Intervening  with  wild  roses  rare. 

"  Just  beyond  the  southern  line  of  this 
Bright  stream,  as  if  designed  by  nature  for 
A  terrace,  rose  a  splendid  hill  that  stretched 
The  valley's  length  from  east  to  west,  and  on 
It  stood  in  clusters  and  alone,  bull  pine, 
Small  roble  oaks,  some  laurel  wood  and  oft 
A  sturdy  cedar  cone,  while  from  the  earth 
Beneath  their  shade,  grew  labyrinths  of  ferns, 
Blackberry  vines  and  yellow  crocus  bloom. 
This  conditioned  growth  extended  round 
The  valley's  head  and  margined  on  the  rocks 
And  rough-hewn  hills  that  bound  it  on  the  north, 
While  on  the  west  the  sapphire  sea  complains 
Of  winds  and  ever-changing  of  the  moon 


40  POEMS    OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

That  keep  her  whitecaps  always  on  the  run. 

11  This  trouble,  like  a  spirit  never  free, 
Moves  up  her  tides  and  surf  upon  the  shore 
To  breast  and  mingle  with  the  shining  sand, 
And  in  the  sound  there  seems  a  requiem 
For  all  the  slumbering  dead  that  line  her  depths. 
Just  midway  of  the  vale  from  east  to  west, 
And  on  the  northern  side  and  running  up 
And  down  the  stream  full  half  a  mile, 
Then  at  angles  right  across  the  plain, 
The  lines  extending  past  a  little  bench, 
Then  higher  up  among  the  spurs  and  cliffs, 
Where  hazel,  alder  wood  and  scrubby  pines 
Glean  scanty  substance  from  decaying  shale 
And  mould  of  withering  herbs  and  fallen  leaves, 
I  purchased,  of  pre-empter,  for  abode. 

"  Each  quarter-section  in  this  sunny  vale 
Was  entered  for  a  home,  improved  and  had 
Its  thrifty  habitance,  who  raised  some  corn, 
A  little  wheat,  some  stock  that  grazed  upon 
The  hills,  with  garden  rich  in  succulents 
And  door-yard  flowers  most  profusely  grown. 

"  A  schoolhouse,  white,  upon  a  little  hill, 
A  union  church  nearby  all  dressed  in  brown, 
With  squatty  belfry  struggling  from  its  top, 
And  gothic  gables,  friezed  in  snowy  white ; 
With  market-place  and  trading-post  across 
The  hills  to  southward,  twenty  miles  away, 
Made  up  the  features  of  this  sunny  clime. 


CANTO   VII. 

"  Here  in  this  vale,  upon  the  plot  of  land 
Before  outlined,  we  did,  in  faith,  essay 
To  build  a  home;  that  is  to  say,  myself, 
Old  Rover,  lame  from  his  long  walk,  and  my 
Good  steed,  then  lank  and  lean  from  overwork 
In  dunnage  packing,  plain  and  mountain 
Crossing,  often  stinted  in  his  rations 
Down  to  fennels,  greasewocd  and  white  sage. 

"  They  helped  me  build  the  house?  Be  sure  they  did. 
The  long,  slim  pines  I  felled  upon  th'e  slopes 
And  cut  in  lengths  to  form  the  walls.     Fast  to 
A  chain  about  one  end  of  each  peeled  pole 
I  hitched  my  noble  horse  and  with  a  snort 
At  starting,  snaked  them  to  the  spot  I  had 
Selected  for  the  slippery,  round-logged  cot. 

"  And  when  the  logs  had  pushed  their  noses  through 
The  hillside  shale  to  reach  the  chosen  site, 
With  smaller  skints,  neat  skinned  for  ridge  pole  and 
For  rafters,  shakes  for  roof  and  puncheons  for 
A  floor,  split  from  a  stately  sugar  pine, 
Were  all  upon  the  ground — a  bench  of  land 
Some  forty  feet  above  the  level  plain — 
Where  growth  of  oak  and  alder  sparsely  stood. 

"  Southward  set  I  there  my  cabin's  face 
That  overlooked  the  prospect  of  the  vale, 
While  to  the  west  full  half  a  league  away, 
Obscured  in  distance  by  some  spreading  trees, 
The  ocean  gleamed  at  every  setting  sun, 
Like  robes  imagined  for  Divinity. 

41 


42  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

The  work  commenced,  thereon  I  hinged  my  thoughts, 
With  aids,  old  Rover  and  my  sturdy  steed. 
Advancement  seemed  forever  manifest. 

"  How  did  these  animals  help  on  the  work? 
Good  Rover  learned  to  know  the  name  of  nail, 
Of  hammer,  saw  and  chisel,  too,  a  shake, 
Or  square  or  spirit  level,  so  I  had 
No  other  care  than  name  the  thing  I  wished, 
And  it  would  come  between  his  teeth,  and  when 
The  job  was  full  in  hand  his  schooling  seemed 
So  well  engraven  on  a  thoughtful  mind 
That  he  was  ever  on  the  watch  to  give 
His  aid  upon  the  ground,  or  high  above, 
Where  leaned  the  willow  ladder  on  the  wall, 
Up  which  he  went  as  nimble-footed  as 
An  urchin  climbing  for  the  fun  of  it. 

"  When  after  all  the  skill  we  did  possess 
And  after  weeks  of  steady  toil,  the  house 
Stood  prim  and  trim,  good  Sanger,  sleek 
With  leisure  and  fair  feeding  on  the  green 
Bunch  grass  of  hill  and  clover  on  the  plain, 
Came  up  of  sturdy  step  to  view  the  work. 

u  With  Rover,  round  and  round  the  house  we  went, 
As  if  inspectors  of  a  castle  built 
For  prince,  or  magnate  of  some  sugar  trust. 
We  all  were  proud  of  it.     The  corners  matched 
So  closely  that  the  logs  hung  not  an  inch 
Apart,  and  chinked  with  strips  of  pine  and  lime 
Made  on  the  ground.     The  roof,  third  pitch  of  shakes, 
Half  lapped,  with  eaves  and  gables  well  projecting, 
Door  and  windows  on  the  southern  part, 
Out-letting  on  a  little  rustic  porch. 

"  The  north  wall  held  a  chimney  made  of  stone, 
With  jams  and  arch  and  hearth  of  diorite, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  43 

Or  something  like  it,  hewn  from  quarry  on 
The  hill.     Then  on  the  East,  a  cosy  place 
For  kitchen,  built  with  window  and  a  door, 
The  well-hewn  puncheon  floor  fit  snug  and  well, 
With  ceiling  overhead  of  like  account. 

if  When  I  and  Rover  went  within  to  look 
About,  old  Sanger  stood  with  blear  eyes  in 
The  door  and  whinnied  at  our  leaving  him 
Without,  and  seemed  concerned  to  know  what  we 
Proposed  on  his  account,  as  shelter  from 
The  winter  storms  that  sat  foreboding  in 
The  north.     The  hint,  so  plainly  given,  struck 
Me  with  the  thought  that  stable  nigh  we'd  build, 
Near  where  a  weeping  willow  stood,  some  rods 
Away,  prime  west  nor' west  the  compass  marked. 
And  there  it  stands,  constructed  chiefly  of 
The  remnants  left  in  putting  up  the  house. 

"  A  spring  of  crystal  water  welled  up  from 
A  crevice  in  a  ledge  of  stone  that  formed 
For  it  a  little  basin,  shaded  by 
A  green  bay  tree  that  manifestly 
Measured  years  by  centuries. 
In  all  the  work  we  did,  our  neighbors  seemed 
Most  kind  and  affable  and  often  lent 
A  helping  hand,  as  if  in  token  of 
Regard,  which  signifies  in  all  the  world, 
Where  soul  and  sense  commune  that  kind  is  one, 
And  common  to  us  all,  as  grow  and  bloom 
The  crowning  roses,  red  and  yellow  gold, 
That  grow  in  strength  the  more  we  nurture  them. 

' '  If  kindred  we  are,  then  should  kindness  lead 
The  way  to  better  things,  as  toils  in  pain 
The  homeward  bound,  with  hand  extending  help 
To  some  poor,  weary  brother  on  the  way, 


44  POEMS    OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

And  pointing  to  the  blessed  abode  above. 

"  So  when  the  task  of  building  grew  complete, 
October's  strides  had  reached  half-way  his  span, 
And  as  he  passed,  the  leaves  upon  the  trees 
Began  to  pale  with  fear,  for  well  they  knew 
The  north  wind,  howling  in  the  rugged  hills, 
Betokened  them  no  good  or  recompense 
For  all  the  glory  they  had  given  to 
The  early  spring  and  summer's  cooling  shade, 
Where  parching  thirst  and  heat  can  never  come. 

"  And  now  when  all  this  lovely  angel  work 
Is  hardly  done,  their  dirge  is  being  sung 
By  dreary  Boreas  in  northern  climes, 
In  blend  with  mournful  whisper  of  the  pines, 
That  sing  as  does  the  ever-troubled  sea, 
The  requiem  of  all  its  strangled  dead. 
And  thus  it  is  with  everything  that  lives — 
Each  has  its  day  and  dying  disappears — 
While  memory  forgets  their  resting  place 
In  rush  for  phantasies  that  give  no  rest. 

"  The  later  fall  and  winter  spent  we  in 
Attempt  to  clear  a  field  of  scattering  brush 
And  drooping  limbs  that  lankly  hung  about 
The  spreading  oaks,  which  seemed  in  strength  to  hold 
The  valley  down  in  place  and  annually, 
Like  Ammon,  with  a  lavish  hand,  upon 
The  earth  does  scatter  brown  and  lusty  nuts, 
Which  long-nosed  chuk  and  herds  grow  fat  upon. 

"And  when  relieved  of  growth  superfluous, 
Old  Sanger  fat  and  favored  by  his  rest 
.And  choice  of  feed,  was  in  new  harness  hitched 
Unto  a  shining  plow,  and  with  my  guide, 
The  rich,  brown  soil,  surprised  in  its  long  sleep, 
Rolled  from  the  mould,  dark  lap  on  lap, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  45 

Like  ridging  breakers  on  a  sandy  shore. 

"  Some  spelts  and  wheat  we  sowed,  and  later  on, 
When  spring,  with  belt  of  green  and  budding  robes, 
We  planted  corn,  and  then  a  garden,  fenced 
With  pickets  split  upon  the  hills;  we  set 
And  seeded  many  rows  and  many  kinds 
Of  succulents,  with  sage  and  flower  plants 
In  plots,  on  curves  and  circles  near  the  house, 

"  And  ere  the  lovely  Queen  of  spring,  in  faith, 
Had  finished  arbors  for  the  summer's  heat, 
In  woodland  and  along  the  shining  streams, 
The  fields  were  green  with  waving  grain  that  gave 
Great  promise,  when  appeared  the  harvest  moon, 
And  laughed  while  drinking  morning  dew  and  warmth 
That  came  as  heralds  from  the  rising  sun, 
While  blooming  flowers  nodded  as  I  passed 
About  my  little  home,  as  if  to  say, 

"  *  We  came  to  thee  as  fragrant  breath  from  God, 
That  in  thy  troubles  thou  shalt  not  forget, 
With  us,  to  bless  the  hand  that  made  us  all.' 
The  ocean  shore  was  oft  my  rambling  ground. 
With  Rover,  in  the  lead,  we  traced  it  up 
And  down  a  hundred  times,  on  hunt  of  shell 
And  shining  pebbles  scattered  on  the  sand. 

"  We  bathed  within  the  rush  of  rolling  surf, 
And  oft  when  standing  out  so  far  as  safe, 
A  stick  I'd  hurl  out  on  the  ridging  sea, 
When  Rover,  watching  every  act,  would  bound 
In  after  with  a  yell,  and  swimming,  float 
Upon  the  surf,  until  the  prize  secured, 
Returned  it  to  me  with  a  laughing  look 
That  wisely  said,  1 1  dare,  in  faith,  to  go 
Where  ever  you  can  throw  beyond  your  depth, 


46          POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

Out  in  the  booming  sea  and  with  much  ease 
Will  gladly  bring  the  stick  or  token  back.' 


CANTO    VIII. 

11  Sometimes  the  brimming  ocean  seemed  in  great 
Distress,  as  if  in  lamentation  of 
A  brewing  storm,  with  haze  and  scudding  clouds, 
And  guffs  and  swells  that  preface  lifting  winds, 
Which  gulf  great  ships  and  monsoon  all  the  seas, 
That  throb  with  luming  heat  in  tropic  climes 
Where  winter  never  comes  with  icy  hand. 

"  Living  thus,  in  peace,  untrammeled  by 
The  busy  world,  two  years  and  more,  of  time 
Sped  past  on  golden  wings;  yet  sore  in  heart 
I  was,  with  depth  of  wound  that  seldom  heals. 
Then  came  a  sudden  change,  so  mingled  in 
With  sunshine  and  with  shadow  that  my  life 
For  thirty  years  has  been  like  one  who  dreams, 
Then  wakes  from  troubled  sleep  and  turning  on 
His  pillow  but  to  dream  again. 
In  all  those  years  my  soul  has  traveled  with 
My  heart  and  mind  from  pinnacles  of  bliss 
To  depths  of  woe  that  leads  infinity. 

"  I  know  not  why  it  was,  no  human  tongue 
Can  tell.     It  seems  to  me  a  link  of  fate 
To  fate  so  strange,  I  have  no  name  for  it, 
The  fringing  event  of  this  stranger  tale 
Came  arm  in  arm  with  one  foul  April  day 
That  set  the  giant  trees  to  swinging  like 
So  many  brittle  reeds,  that  splitting  fall 
In  every  gust  and  adverse  wind  that  blows. 

"  It  was  a  day  so  fierce  that  all  the  hills 
Seemed  breaking  up;  the  pines  and  sturdy  oaks 
Lost  all  their  dignity,  their  groaning  trunks 

47 


48  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

And  twisting  tops  forgot  composure  in 

The  fearful  gale  that  howled  through  wood  and  plain 

Like  demons  loosened  from  the  under  world. 

"  In  this  array  of  force  that  seemed  to  rock 
The  adamantive  hills  and  set  at  naught 
Great  nature's  equipoise,  I  heard  a  call, — 
It  seemed  to  come  up  from  the  ocean,  miles 
Away, — '  Don't  laugh!'     The  superstitions  of 
The  world  are  based  on  facts,  deep-hidden  from 
The  common  mind,  that  in  its  ignorance 
Of  what  the  womb  of  nature  holds,  sets  up 
For  truth  the  strangest  phantasies. 

"  It  may  be  thus  with  me  in  this  affair, 
But  then  we  know  there  are  experiences, 
Most  numerous,  that  clearly  indicate 
There's  soul  force  over  soul  that  travels  with 
The  wind  and  makes  impressions  truthful  when 
Great  sorrow  sways  the  sympathetic  mind. 

"  But  be  this  as  it  may,  at  all  events 
The  call  I  seemed  to  hear  took  hold  on  me 
With  force  so  potent  and  surprising  that 
From  playing  with  my  dog  I  moved  toward 
The  door  and  op'ning  it  I  heard  the  call 
Again  above  the  roaring  tempest,  then 
A  little  later  wailings  as  from  one 
Who  has  set  hope  aside  and  hovers  on 
The  brink  of  death.     There  could  be  no  mistake, 
It  was  distress  engulfed  in  floods  of  foam 
And  breaking  waves  upon  the  cruel  sea, 
Abandoned,  seemingly,  by  God  and  man. 
I  felt  constrained  to  go;  impelled  like  one 
By  fate  decreed.     I  closed  the  door,  my  teeth 
Were  set  like  those  of  some  good  soldier  called 
To  fill  a  breach,  death-lined  with  noble  men. 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  49 

With  Rover  at  my  side,  we  faced  the  storm. 
The  weeping  willow  shelt'ring  Sanger's  stall 
Had  lost  its  footing  and  lay  twisted  up, 
Prone  on  the  earth  like  Alegone  in  throes 
Of  death  stretched  out  beside  the  brimming  tide. 

"  My  trusty  horse,  half  frightened  by  the  storm 
Was  quickly  buckled  to  the  sturdy  cart 
And  while  I  plied  the  strappings,  traces,  bit 
And  lines,  old  Sanger  surely  seemed  to  know 
That  some  wild  ride  was  starting  from  the  slips. 
And  Rover,  stricken  dumb  at  such  display 
Of  madness  on  my  part,  stood  by  the  rig 
With  flaring  eyes,  and  ears  erect,  but  when 
The  start  was  made  he  ran  ahead,  as  if 
Full  conscious  that  the  trouble  was  upon 
The  swiftly  running  sea  or  foaming  surf — 
Death  laden,  cold  and  pitiless. 

"  It  was  a  fearful  ride,  the  howling  wind 
Stood  dead  ahead;  the  swaying  oaks  that  lined 
The  vale  groaned  under  their  uncommon  load, 
And  giant  limbs  long  used  to  angry  storms, 
With  grinding  wail  fell  prone  upon  the  ground. 
The  lowing  herds  in  peaceful  pasture  caught 
Infection  from  the  mighty  wind  and  pressed 
By  falling  trees,  tore  through  the  fences  like 
The  Bison  in  his  maddened  flight  to  reach 
A  shelter  from  the  howling  elements. 
No  whip  was  needful  on  old  Sanger's  sides, 
From  start  to  finish  he  was  on  the  run, 
As  when  a  stag  with  hounds  and  horn  behind 
Disdains  the  earth  and  seems  to  fly  with  wings 
More  potent  than  possessed  the  sacred  bulls 
That  lined  Egyptian  labyrinths. 

"  So  wild  we  went  the  surf  was  soon  at  hand, 


50  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

In  looking  seaward  we  beheld,  far  off, 

A  vessel  black,  with  rigging  gone,  high  on 

A  mountain  wave,  and  then  as  phantom  of 

The  sight  she  disappeared,  to  rise  no  more. 

Left,  there  was  no  sign  of  living  thing, 

Black  desolation  held  dominion  there, 

And  laughed  to  scorn  the  prowess  of  the  world. 

"  While  yet  I  peered  out  on  the  blinding  storm 
There  seemed  to  me,  tossed  on  the  running  surf, 
A  tiny  speck  of  something  more  than  foam, 
Slow  sinking  out  of  sight,  then  on  a  crest 
Would  rise  again  a  little  more  distinct. 
A  few  more  times  it  rose  and  fell  like  gauze, 
Or  wrrap  of  red,  light  bordered  for  a  skirt; 
It  seemed  to  come  in  with  the  drifting  tide 
And  then  an  undertow  would  take  it  back 
Apace,  a  little  dainty  garment  surely  it 
Appeared,  with  some  frail  form  enclosed, 
Perhaps  an  hundred  yards  from  where  the  surf 
Beat  on  the  sandy  shore,  with  butting  froth 
Of  chopping  waves  and  foaming  eddy  whirls. 
O,  Destiny  that  rides  the  blinding  storm! 
Where  is  thy  pity  for  the  dead  thou  hast 
Entombed?     Suspense  was  agony  to  me. 

"  I  grasped  the  dog,  his  fore  arms  in  my  hands, 
And  standing  up  erect,  I  pointed  to 
The  object  sought  and  with  kind  words  set  on — 
A  gleam  of  soul  ran  through  his  eyes, — he  saw 
The  apparition  and  with  consciousness 
Of  what  I  wished,  spring  out  upon  the  flood 
And  like  a  mariner  who  dares  to  die 
When  duty  calls,  he  struck  the  running  tide 
With  might  that  seemed  prodigious  for  a  dog. 

"  He  neither  turned  to  right  or  left,  but  fought 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  51 

Through  surf  and  foam,  as  one  in  duty  bound 

To  save  the  lost  and  shame  old  Anubis. 

At  last  he  reached  the  form  and  right  about 

Set  out  for  shore  again;  with  back  to  back 

He  came,  with  head  run  through  the  apron  strings, 

His  burthen's  front  above  the  lapping  foam. 

I  met  him  in  the  tide,  full  to  my  waist, 

And  bracing,  held  steadfast  from  undertow, 

While  surf  at  times  ran  high  above  my  head. 

"  Thus  poised  unsteadily,  I  lent  the  dog 
A  helping  hand  in  his  distress,  which  was 
So  great,  that  never  could  he,  living, 
Reached  the  land.     A  little  nearer  then 
I  gathered  up  the  form  and  wading  out, 
There  laid  my  charge  upon  the  gleaming  sand, 
A  form  so  fair  and  sweet  I  never  had  beheld, 
A  face  in  model  Greek,  long  golden  hair, 
Small  hands  and  feet  with  tiny  slippers  on, 
A  scarlet  cashmere  waist  and  dainty  skirt 
Of  opal  colored  silk.     The  form,  in  age, 
Was  surely  not  beyond  its  early  teens. 

"  The  life  seemed  gone,  and  that  distracted  me. 
How  sweet  and  beautiful  she  seemed  in  death! 
0,  lashing  waters,  waste  of  some  great  flood 
Poured  on  the  world  to  sate  the  wrath  of  God, 
Display  your  might;  in  foaming  caverns  dwell, 
And  bellow  with  your  threats  of  booming  hell. 
Was  it  an  everlasting  sleep?     Or  vas 
There  yet  a  chance  of  rescue  from  the  grave? 

"  At  this  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  set 
To  chaffing,  kneading,  rolling,  as  if  fate 
Had  held  in  his  slender  balance  hope  delayed. 
At  little  brandy  poured  upon  the  lips 
Set  death  to  doubting  his  supremacy; 


52  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

A  tremor  ran  through  all  the  lovely  frame, 
Then  with  a  wrenching  gasp  the  bosom  heaved, 
A  gurgling  sound  of  water  running  from 
The  mouth;  then  eame  the  breath  in  agony 
Of  utterance,  like  some  poor  soul  long  held 
In  comatose.     She  lived!     And  soon  her  large 
Brown  eyes  were  opened  full  upon  my  face. 
Her  respiration  grew  more  regular, 
And  then  she  said  composedly,  in  lute 
Like  tone,  but  hardly  audible,  '  Why  am 
I  resting  here  and  where  are  now  my  friends?' 
She  spoke  a  tongue  I  had  not  heard  for  years, 
But  still  I  did  essay  direct  reply. 
Kehearsing  all  I  knew  and  how  I  found  her  in 
The  flood  and  how  old  Rover  rescued  her. 
She  seemed  delighted  with  the  dog  and  put 
Her  arms  about  his  neck  so  lovingly 
That  Rover,  hoping  he  had  made  a  friend, 
Did  lick  her  smiling  face  like  one  who  claims 
A  valid  right  to  do  as  much. 

"  Hastily  I  wrapped  my  buggy  robes 
About  the  shivering  form  and  placing  it 
Snugly  in  the  shay,  I  mounted  by  her  side. 
Then  giving  Sanger  ample  rein,  we  ran 
Like  Atalanta  leading  Hippomenes. 
Up  through  the  vale  we  flew  before  the  wind, 
For  full  I  realized  that,  soaked  and  chilled 
Through  to  the  bone,  Atropos  lingered  near, 
With  lifted  hand  to  cut  the  thread  of  life. 

"  At  this  uncommon  speed  we  reached  the  home 
Of  Lulu  Wanna,  wife  of  Bonadena, 
Late  of  Italia,  refined  and  lovable, 
With  ample  room  and  comfortable. 
The  husband  met  us  at  the  wicker  gate, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  53 

The  front  of  an  enclosure,  flower  blown, 

And  when  we  went  into  the  house  with  her 

Poor,  little,  helpless  form,  chilled  through  and  through, 

From  washing  of  the  sea,  the  lovely  wife, 

A  bonny  bit  of  wit  and  woman's  heart, 

Stood  dumb  a  moment  watching  what  we  brought, 

And  then  the  pity  of  it  melted  down 

Her  eyes  and  with  a  mother's  love  she  bent 

And  kissed  the  cold,  blue  lips  and  laying  off 

The  robe,  glib  felt  about  the  tender  limbs, 

And  in  a  moment  realizing  that 

The  greatest  haste  was  all  that  lay  between 

The  girl  and  death,  she  gathered  up  the  gem 

As  if  a  babe,  and  ere  the  story  could 

Be  told,  had  placed  the  flower  in  a  bath 

Of  water,  warmed,  to  make  a  ruddy  glow; 

Then  rubbed  and  dressed  in  dry,  warm  clothes, 

And  tucked  in  bed  with  sips  of  steaming  tea, 

The  little  waif  went  off  to  sleep,  like  one 

In  swoon  and  weary  with  fatigue. 

"  For  days  grim  specters  of  the  shadowland 
Seemed  in  the  air  of  that  sweet  tenement. 
A  fever  raged  within  the  blood  of  that 
Fair  stranger  in  a  stranger  land.     Her  tongue 
Made  mellow  sounds  between  a  sob,  a  sigh, 
Or  song,  delirious  in  her  present  woe. 
Like  Sappho  hanging  on  Lucadian  rim 
In  sorrow  for  her  faithless  Mytilene. 
Hardly  could  I  leave  the  house,  for  through 
The  rage  of  her  delirium,  were  times 
When  came  a  word  that  told  of  want  and  I 
Alone,  of  all  the  vale,  could  understand 
A  thing  she  said.     The  climax  came  at  last. 

"  The  doctor  shook  his  head,  but  deigned  to  say, 


54          POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

1  An  hour  will  decide  her  fate.'     It  seemed 

To  me  a  soul  so  truly  beautiful 

Should  never  die  if  destiny  had  linked 

The  fairest  forms  with  immortality. 

Passing  strange  and  indefinable 

Is  human  sympathy,  it  surely  is 

A  touch  transmitted  from  Divinity, 

A  glint,  a  spark  of  soul  force,  ray  of  light, 

That  strikes  deep-seated  at  a  glance  and  burns 

Like  vestal  fire  through  eternity. 

It  is  uncommon  surely,  but  it  comes 

Sometimes  in  life  to  every  soul,  as  comes 

The  morning  light  before  the  lifting  sun. 

"  How  small  does  grow  the  vanity  of  man 
When  life  and  death  hang  in  the  balance  by 
A  hair  and  human  aid  stands  powerless 
To  give  a  helping  hand  to  those  we  love. 
The  recompense  of  such  an  hour  comes 
To  him  who  hath  the  soul  to  see  that  all 
Of  life  is  like  a  fitful  song  with  smiles 
And  tears,  in  which  the  notes  are  memories 
Of  sweets  and  sorrows  passed  and  dint  of  hope 
For  happy  time  to  come,  with  consciousness 
Of  mind  and  heart  each  day  hath  record  there 
Of  all  the  jewels  we  have  gathered  here, 
And  all  the  ills  our  deeds  have  shadowed  forth, 
And  that  the  crucible  of  conscience, 
Ever  silently  is  burning  out  the  dross 
Of  every  act  and  thought  that's  selfish  or 
Untrue,  and  slowly  gathering  up  the  gems 
Discovered  for  the  settings  of  a  crown 
And  refuse  black  for  torment  for  the  damned. 

"  Didst  ever  thou,  with  fear  and  breath  abate, 
Behold  the  night  at  noonday,  when  the  sun 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  55 

Had  shadowed  all  his  face,  and  thought  perhaps, 

He  might  not  shine  again  upon  the  earth? 

And  how  you  had  to  hold  your  heart  when  glimpse 

The  coming  day  broke  by  the  moon's  dark  disk? 

This  may  compare,  as  does  a  river  to 

A  sickly  stream,  the  feeling  that  was  mine, 

When  light  came  back  into  her  loving  eyes. 

"  The  angel  ministry  that  brought  her  form 
To  life  again,  with  hope  of  many  years, 
Turned  all  that  household  in  happy  tears, 
Father,  mother,  Janie,  ten,  most  fair, 
And  Robbie,  seven,  was  the  baby  there. 


CANTO    IX. 

"  Great  ocean  canst  them  not  assuage  thy  thirst 
To  toss  such  beauty  on  thy  rolling  ribs, 
And  take  so  many  to  thy  caverns  down 
And  wrap  in  seaweed,  there  to  rock 
Forever  in  thy  cradles,  as  you  sing 
The  mournful  dirge  of  human  destiny? 
I  grieve  with  thee.     But  then  it  may  be  for 
The  best,  as  He  who  made  it  never  made 
A  thing  in  vain,  though  oft  it  seemeth  so. 
"  Without  the  ocean  every  living  thing 
Upon  the  globe  would  die ;  the  rivers  in 
Their  beds  go  dry;  the  streamlets  cease  to  run; 
The  seasons  fail,  and  famine,  pale,  possess 
The  earth  as  Bores  does  the  desert  sands. 

"  Compared  with  this  array  of  nature's  force 
Poor  human  strength  seems  frail  indeed;  but  then 
The  consolation  is,  inspired  hope 
That  all  is  well  with  those  who  dare  to  do 
The  right  and  strive,  in  faith,  to  reach  the  rest, 
Where  darkness  never  comes,  where  morning  spans 
The  day  and  praise  possess  the  lips  of  all 
The  tribes  that  ever  lived  upon  the  earth. 

"  No,  no,  my  friend,  don't  blame  the  sea.     It  might 
Have  been  as  placid  as  a  mirror's  face. 
The  howling  winds  would  leave  her  robes 
Alone,  her  bosom  heave  no  more,  no  sigh 
Would  come  from  cresting  swells,  nor  surf 
Break  on  the  yellow  sand.     But  then,  if  all 
The  winds  were  gone,  what  would  the  sailor  do? 
Where  drift  his  argoses  that  glibly  skim, 

56 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  57 

Unharmed,  the  blue-robed  bosom  of  the  deep, 
Like  swans  that  hurry  to  some  distant  port? 

"  The  gulfs  and  bays  grow  black  in  their  decay, 
Stagnation  stands  on  land  and  sea  and  shoal 
In  grimy  winding  sheets,  with  laughing  hell 
Close  down  upon  a  ruined  world — the  curse 
Of  God  and  seal  of  death  forevermore. 

"  No,  no,  we  cannot  blame  the  sea,  nor  sun, 
Nor  driving  winds.     They  have  their  uses  on 
The  earth  ordained  for  them — a  part  of  that 
Great  purpose  in  design  of  Him  who  made 
All  things  to  move  in  harmony  with  laws 
Immutable  to  their  appointed  end. 

"  But  to  return  from  this  innate  review. 
As  rosebuds  fresh  renewed  by  gentle  rains 
And  May  day  suns,  with  watchful  care  the  waif 
Grew  into  health  again,  and  as  she  grew 
In  strength  of  form,  she  grew  as  well  in  strength 
Of  mind,  and  depth  of  noble  soul  sat  on 
Her  face,  that  from  her  winsome  smiles  and  large 
Brown  eyes  enveloped  all  the  house  with  charm, 
So  sweet  and  gentle;  those  who  came  to  see 
The  gem  and  hear  her  silver,  ringing,  lute 
Like  tongue,  did  seem  enchanted  by  the  spell, 
Imposed,  with  overflowing  hearts  of  praise, 
As  does  sweet  canthies  run  when  pressed 
From  ivy  buds,  and  when  they  went  away 
Would  come  again,  like  bees  released  from  night. 
Fly  to  the  sunny  vales  and  nectar  sip 
From  running  roses  and  the  lilac  bloom, 
Or  as  the  children  gaily  tramp  the  hills 
And  dells  in  search  of  nuts  and  honey  due. 

"  Three  months  had  passed  since  her  recovery, 
The  early  summer,  dressed  in  robes  of  green 


58  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

And  gold,  smiled  in  her  beauty  in  the  vale, 

The  fields  of  waving  grain  and  growing  corn 

Held  forth  their  praise  to  Him  who  made  them  all, 

And  every  garden,  dell  and  hillside  seemed 

To  vie  with  neighbor  in  fair  rivalry 

In  richness  of  adornment,  when  I  chanced 

To  meet  the  winsome  miss,  some  distance  down 

The  laughing  stream,  with  apron  full  of  buds 

And  dainty  flowerets  she  had,  with  care, 

Secured,  wild  growing  in  the  blooming  woods. 

"  She  greeted  me  with  smile  that  seemed  to  take 
The  gentle  beauty  of  the  posies  on. 
We  paused  and  sat  upon  the  sloping  bank 
Of  that  fair  stream  where  tufts  of  velvet  grass 
Seemed  to  invite  sweet  converse  and  repose. 
The  trees  stood  silent  auditors  and  all 
Their  leaves,  gold-tinted  by  the  setting  sun, 
Were  shimmering  as  moved  the  gentle  breeze. 

"  Some  random  gossip  ran  between  us  for 
A  time,  and  after  pause,  I  gently  said, 
i  Nenona,  you  have  wonderfully 
Improved  since  first  you  came  among  us  some 
Few  months  ago,  and  yet  in  all  that  time 
I've  learned  so  little  of  your  past,  that  now 
I  know  no  more  than  when  we  met,  of  who 
You  are  and  whence  you  came,  except  your  name. 
And  yet  my  interest  in  your  life  is  such, 
That  nothing  more  concerns  me  than  to  learn 
Your  antecedent  history,  as  you, 
From  memory  may  please  to  give  it  me.' 

"  At  this  strong  hint  of  inquiry  she  seemed 
Oppressed.     Her  beaming  face  turned  into  one 
Of  sadness,  and  the  tears  slipped  from  her  eyes 
Down  through  her  silken  lashes  like  pearl  drops, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  59 

And  dripping  undisturbed  from  burning  cheeks. 
Thus  seeing  her  distress  I  sought  recall 
Of  my  request,  and  make  amends  for  what 
Might  seem  to  her,  in  measure,  something  rude. 

"  She  answered  not,  but  sat  like  one  unstrung, 
And  lost  in  deepest  reverie,  as  when 
The  ring  of  Sakasntala  lost,  she  could 
But  grieve  alone  in  her  divine  retreat. 
Her  thoughtful  brow,  in  depth  and  stretch  surprised 
My  gaze,  as  something  wonderful  in  one 
So  young.     Composure  came  at  last  as  on 
A  pool  of  water,  light  disturbed 
By  pebble  dropped  upon  its  placid  face, 
And  then  she  said  unsteadily,  '  I  beg 
Indulgence  for  this  little  show  of  grief, 
That  came  as  does  a  passing  cloud  before 
The  morning  sun.     The  deepest  sorrow  oft 
Is  memory  of  blessings  gone,  and  thoughts 
Of  those  we  loved  who  were,  but  now  are  not. 

"  1 1  should  have  told  you  what  you  now  request, 
Long  ere  this,  but  heartache  held  my  tongue, 
As  hush  holds  down  the  pulse  at  mention  of 
Calamity,  but  then,  if  you  will  deign 
To  now  and  then,  forgive  a  tear,  pressed  out 
Mine  eyes  in  this  recital  of  the  past, 
I  will  proceed;  perhaps  you  may  have  had 
Some  sorrows  in  your  time  as  well: 

"  '  'Tis  now  a  little  more  that  fourteen  years 
Since  firpt  I  saw  the  light  on  Lesbos,  near 
The  city  of  sweet  Mitylene.     By  birth, 
My  father  was  a  Greek,  with  records  of 
An  ancestry  that  ran  into  the  mist 
Of  time;  while  mother  was,  by  race  and  blood, 
Aoelian.     Its  tribal  settlement 


60  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Occurring  on  the  Isle,  ere  Homer  wrote 

The  Iliad,  and  Troy's  ruin  was 

New  history  that  had  no  record  but 

In  memory  of  living  men  who  in 

The  groves  and  schools  of  lovely  Mitylene, 

Culoni  and  Molivo,  told  with  much 

Parade  the  sights  they  saw,  while  yet  the  gods 

Of  great  Olympus  urged  the  bloody  fight. 

"  i  A  brother  had  I  older  that  myself 
By  seven  years.     And  after  one  decade 
Of  life  had  passed,  in  all  the  beauty  of 
My  home,  surrounded  by  fair,  wooded  hills, 
Broad  fields  of  purple  vine  and  olive  groves, 
That  baffled  time  in  steady  growth,  and  reach 
Across  so  many  centuries. 
My  father  oft,  for  change  of  scene  and  weal 
Of  learning  Athens  offered  those  he  loved, 
Would  man  his  skipper,  always  moored  secure 
In  little  inlet  near  the  home,  that  made 
An  eye  of  Port  Culoni;  thence  with  all 
The  household,  sail  across  fair  ^Egean, 
Seldom  ruffing  more  her  placid  face 
Than  when  the  waving  grain  bows  welcome  to 
Aeotus  moving  on  a  summer  day. 


CANTO    X. 

"  '  The  way  was  fine,  we  passed  sweet  Pear  a, 
Round  Cape  Doro,  through  the  inlet 
Facing  Hymethus,  curving  northward  up 
The  channel  to  old  Athens. 
Those  days  now  seem  as  dreams  to  me  wherein 
I  held  a  golden  horn,  and  from  it  poured 
Unstinted  bliss  of  fairest  destiny. 
The  choice  of  everything  came  at  request. 
But  most  of  all  our  parents  were  concerned 
That  we  should  have  the  best  of  training 
Mentally,  with  social  roundings  that 
Would  cull  the  rough,  uncanny  growth  of  youth, 
And  set  with  plants  the  garden  of  our  lives, 
Untainted  by  the  Upas ;  neither  decked 
With  gaudy  bloom  of  hot  house  cereus, 
Which  in  a  single  night  does  open  out 
The  glory  of  its  heart,  and  withers  ere 
The  gray  of  dawn  appears ;  but  rather  plants 
Of  amaranth  and  anemone,  with  here 
And  there  the  myrtle  bloom,  sweet  jasmine  and 
Pathway  borders  lined  with  violets. 

."  '  No  stuffing  process  was  desired, 
As  when  slim  pigs  are  cramped  into  a  sty ; 
But  rather,  as  pure  streams  that  trickle  in 
A  silver  pool,  that  circling,  slowly  brims 
With  shining  water  from  the  distant  hills. 
My  brother  learned  beyond  my  depth;  had  with 
It  all,  a  nature  so  reserved  that  few, 
Beside  myself,  could  fully  understand. 
He  loved  the  Hellas  race  as  if  a  part 

61 


62  POEMS    OF    LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

And  parcel  of  himself;  would  camp  alone 

For  days  about  the  sunny  vales,  and  with 

His  dog  and  gun  inspect  the  battlefields 

That  have  in  all  the  centuries  since  then 

Clothed  Attica  with  sons  in  which  the  shades 

Of  heroes  shine  like  jewels  in  a  crown. 

No  date  or  name  unknown  to  him,  and  when 

In  Athens  I  have  often  seen  him  stand 

Beside  a  column  of  the  Parthenon, 

Unmindful  of  the  moving  stream  of  life. 

His  heart  seemed  in  the  grave  with  those  who  built 

It  in  the  infant  world.     He  loved  the  grand, 

Old  masters,  and  with  Plato  talk  as  friend 

To  friend  about  philosophy  too  deep 

For  platitudes  to  hold  an  anchorage. 

"  '  Conversed,  it  seems,  with  that  great  Stagirite, 
Who  in  his  exoteric  work  and  depth 
Of  thought,  stands  like  a  shining  pillar  in 
The  dusk  and  haze  of  mental  growth. 
Met  Solon,  lover  of  sweet  Salimis, 
And  solid  glory  of  the  ancient  Greek, — 
Who.  base  and  noble  equals  made  before 
The  law,  and  consecrated  Justice  stood 
Well  to  the  front,  with  even-balanced  scale; 
And  Socrates,  the  searcher  after  truth 
And  knowledge  of  himself,  when  sophistry 
Stalked  thwart  the  temple  door  and  rode  to  death 
Its  own  surprised  absurdities. 

"  '  His  love  was  such  for  Grecian  blood 
That  when  the  Hellans  had  fierce  contest  with 
The  Turk,  defending  Christian  creed,  he 
Ran  away  from  home  and  joined  the  standard  of 
The  Greeks,  and  then  he  wrote  to  me  these  lines: 
1  Tell  our  loving  mother,  all  things  else 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  63 

May  pass  away,  as  dust  before  the  wind, 
And  yet  her  noble  council  will,  with  me, 
Endure,  as  precious  grains  of  shining  gold 
That  nurture  and  sustain,  when  ill  betides. 
And  father  will,  perhaps,  forgive  my  flight 
To  join  a  contest  with  the  bloody  Turk 
That  men  may  live  who  dare  to  worship  God. 

"  '  As  for  the  nations,  Christian-named, 
That  stand,  cold-hearted  as  the  polar  seas, 
Unmindful  of  the  common  brotherhood 
Of  man,  and  view  a  people  struggling  in 
Defense  of  right  and  human  liberty 
Against  a  monster  of  the  modern  world, 
Without  extending  aid  or  sympathy, — 
Are  but  abettors  of  the  damned,  in  aid 
Of  hell's  dominion  on  the  earth,  that  each 
May  hold  secure  its  many  robberies, 
Without  the  fear  of  rupture  with  the  rest. 
And  mark  my  word,  that  ripe  will  come  the  day 
When  all  this  ghoulish  greed  will  fester  in 
The  rotting  flesh  of  those  old  cormorants, 
And  desolation  feed  upon  their  woe.' 

"  '  Poor  boy!  In  heart  he  had  no  wish  above 
His  country's  good;  his  fight  was  brief;  at  last 
He  fell  with  face  toward  the  bitter  foe, 
And  wrapped  in  colors  that  he  loved  so  well, 
Sleeps  on  a  bloody  battlefield  in  Crete. 

"  '  My  father  grieved  like  one  bereft  of  all 
Incentive  in  the  teeming  strife  of  men 
For  worldly  betterment,  and  went  about 
His  work  sad-faced  and  inconsolable 
As  ^Eneas  for  the  fair-faced  Nisus. 

"  '  My  mother  seemed  like  one  who  calmly  sits 
Upon  the  verge  of  time  and  looks  beyond 


64  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

For  consolation;  shadowed  hung  her  life, 

As  when  the  sun  in  full  eclipse  hath  not 

Expression,  other  than  the  shining  breadth 

Of  solar  soul  that  margins  round  the  moon's 

Dark  border,  all  was  glory  left  of  light 

In  her  fair  face,  and  those  who  saw  her  then 

Had  impress  of  divinity  that  time 

Could  never  wear  away.     I  seemed  the  link 

That  bound  in  tie  of  earth  those  two  great  souls. 

"  i  No  word  nor  action  did  I  stint  to  bridge 
The  chasm  of  despair  on  which  their  feet 
Seemed  merging  for  untimely  fall.     While  thus 
Consoling  them  as  best  I  could,  the  tears 
Would  often  flood  mine  eyes  in  spite  of  nerve 
In  effort  to  control  them;  yet  when  they 
would  start  unbidden,  smiles  were  forced  upon 
My  face  to  shine  a  rainbow  through  them. 
Thus  some  months  in  gloom  and  doubt  were  passed, 
Till  time,  sweet  messenger  of  rest  and  hope, 
Dispelled  the  depth  of  shadow  from  our  home. 

"  '  The  Ottoman,  austere,  cold-blooded  in 
His  intercourse  with  other  creeds,  held  sway 
In  all  the  avenues  of  trade  in  that 
Fair  Isle,  and  government  thereof,  as  in 
A  vice,  and  after  crushing  Greek  and  friend 
By  butcheries  and  on  the  battlefield, 
We,  of  that  race,  bore  taunt  and  ill  from  them 
Unceasingly,  and  justice  of  the  courts, 
With  balance  lost,  stood  on  the  side  of  that 
Unspeakable,  and  since  those  creatures  knew 
My  brother  fought  against  their  standard, 
Treated  us  with  jeer,  dispicably. 

"  'And  father,  noble-hearted,  bore  the  brunt 
Of  their  indignities,  which  turned  his  face 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  65 

Against  the  Turk,  as  turns  despair  against 
The  cruel  hand  that  holds  the  shackels  on 
Distress,  and  ruined  by  the  Ottoman 
Financially,  he  did  resolve  to  leave 
Forever  the  fair  Isle,  so  long  his  home, 
Where  Arion  and  Sappho  sung,  and  seek 
Seclusion  in  some  foreign  clime,  and  set 
About,  with  many  friends  in  like  distress, 
To  build  a  boat,  in  which  to  sail  across 
The  seas  to  find  a  home  in  fairyland, 
Where  western  suns  set  in  the  Orient. 

"  '  With  some  good  seamen  in  the  group,  who  had 
Seen  service  for  the  state,  with  carpenters 
Who  knew  their  trade,  it  was  in  council,  soon 
Resolved  to  build  a  topsail  schooner,  rigged, 
Square  top,  topgallant  sail,  full  fore  and  aft. 
With  bent  of  mind  to  see  what  could  be  seen, 
And  hear  with  ears  wide  open  every  sound, 
From  saw-winged  cricket  croaking  on  the  hearth 
To  calliope  that  hoarsely  sings  as  pass 
The  packet  boats,  I  never  failed  to  note. 
The  men  discussed  the  building  of  the  ship, 
And  how  it  should  be  rigged  and  what 
Should  be  its  length  and  breadth  and  greatest  depth. 

"  '  From  Mitylene  the  staunchest  timbers  came, 
The  seasoned  elm,  keel  and  ribs  and  brace 
And  beam  and  knees  of  laurel,  tough  as  teak. 
With  knowledge  of  my  father's  grief,  the  wrongs 
He'd  suffered  from  the  Turk,  and  gentleness 
Of  soul,  bound  all  my  heart  to  him  as  twines 
A  tender  ivy  round  a  mighty  oak. 
My  sympathies  were  always  with  his  work, 
Just  what  he  said  or  looked  was  law  to  me. 
I  had  no  love  for  surly  Ottomen, 


66  POEMS    OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

So,  when  I  passed  one  anywhere  my  nose 
Went  up,  like  some  young  chipmunk  sniffing  at 
The  air,  when  hunter  and  his  wily  pack, 
In  circles,  wid'ning,  scoured  all  the  wood. 

"  '  Poor,  simple  soul!  I  never  seemed  to  learn 
That  every  conqueror  of  hate  or  stubborn  will 
Is  he  who  strives  to  know  himself  and  from 
The  golden  scale  of  justice  measure  gives 
For  every  one  received,  which  makes  a  mead 
That's  worthy  of  the  name,  and  for  ill-will 
Search  out  return  of  some  beneficence. 
How  happy  would  the  lot  of  man  become 
If  we  could  only  pattern  after  some 
Old  Eskimo,  who  kills  a  walrus  or 
A  seal,  and  straightway  serving  it  with  all 
His  neighbors,  share  and  share  alike,  while  he 
Himself  with  smiling  face,  most  cheerfully 
Goes  hungry  on  the  morrow. 
My  dear,  old  mother,  sweetest  counselor, 
Did  love  her  children  as  a  lark  her  young, 
That  limping  flutters  from  her  gaping, 
Blear-eyed  brood  to  lead  a  danger  off, 
Gave  to  my  active  nature  latitude. 


CANTO    XI. 

"  '  Hedged  only  by  my  duty  and  the 
Care  of  self,  I  rambled  in  the  fields,  as  do 
The  linnets  when  the  spring  is  blooming  and 
The  heart  feels  everything  to  glorify 
And  praise  the  maker  of  them  all.     But  when 
The  ship  began  to  grow,  and  knowing  well 
The  purpose  of  its  maker,  the  current  of 
My  life  took  angle  strange.     My  dolls,  so  much 
Beloved  in  former  years,  without  a  tear, 
Were  put  in  night-clothes  and  to  bed,  high  in 
The  garret  loft,  where  they,  poor  things,  perhaps 
Are  sleeping  yet.     The  drift  and  nature  of 
My  studies  changed,  I  lost  romantic  moods. 

" '  Utility  unchecked,  did  stick  her  nose 
In  everything,  and  not  a  ship  or  boat 
Which  passed  the  little  dock,  that  did  not  catch 
My  wary  eye  observing  it;  each  mast 
And  spar  and  flapping  sail,  their  length 
And  breadth  were  measured  in  the  mind,  and  there 
Impressed  for  future  use;  I  singled  out 
The  moorings  of  each  rope,  its  length,  its  strength, 
And  purpose  in  the  vessel's  full  control. 
The  shape  of  beak  and  stern,  its  depth  of  hold, 
And  breadth  of  beam,  as  if  a  seaman  skilled 
In  matters  of  this  kind;  perhaps  I  ruffed 
The  spirit  of  old  Homer,  plodding  through 
His  works  to  find  the  build  of  Memnon's  fleet; 
What  merit  had  the  galleys  of  the  fierce 
Achilles  that  was  worth  the  copy  of 
A  modern  beak,  or  shape  of  maintop  sail 

67 


68  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

That  carries  now  our  richest  argosies? 

"  '  But  in  this  age  of  mammoth  battleships 
And  merchantmen  that  stretch  their  length  across 
The  waves  at  once,  the  Grecian  outfit, 
Sailing  on  the  placid  ^Egean  sea, 
Three  thousand  years  ago,  seem  but  as  tubs 
With  oar-locks  on  the  sides,  compared  to  those 
Great  whales  that  plow  the  mighty  oceans  like 
So  many  leviathans,  gulping  up 
The  channel  waters  as  they  pass. 
Well  did  they  serve  their  aim  and  disappeared 
Like  phantoms  in  the  mist  of  time. 

"  '  Perhaps  those  now  engaged  will  pass  as  well. 
What  then?    What  ships?    What  race  prevail?       | 
O,  Destiny!  No  eye  can  see  beyond 
Thy  veil,  and  stand  we  helpless  on  the  brink 
Of  change,  as  does  a  mariner  at  sea, 
With  helm  lost,  and  sails  all  blown  away. 
Perhaps  it's  for  the  best,  that  trusting  souls 
Should  have  no  view  of  what  is  yet  to  come. 

"  '  Three  months  had  vanished  since  the  keel  was  set, 
True  as  a  die,  from  which  the  little  ship 
Grew  into  shape,  with  swelling  sides,  planked  with 
The  best  and  toughest  teak  with  model  set, 
And  painted  azure  hue,  with  band  and  bar 
And  trimmings  white,  the  standard  colors  of 
The  Greeks;  and  there  she  sat  in  royal  state, 
Like  some  great  duck  just  ready  for  a  swim; 
Everything  in  prime  to  make  the  launch. 

"  '  I  was  selected  holder  of  the  cren 
To  christen  her,  and  when  she  moved  upon 
The  ways,  slow,  gaining  speed  as  on  she  went, 
Like  some  uncommon  creature,  conscious  of 
Her  destiny.     I  broke  the  bottle  on 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  69 

Her  prow,  when  mixed  the  foaming  wine 
With  foam  below,  as  down  it  trickled  in 
The  deep,  as  spirit  for  her  future  use. 

"  '  A  few  more  weeks  of  patient  work,  and  then 
The  boat  sat  proudly  at  the  little  dock, 
Complete,  and  seemingly  prepared  to  breast 
The  troubled  seas  of  many  climes,  and  make 
A  voyage  distant  more  than  half  around 
The  world,  in  search  of  lands  fair  as  we  left. 

"  '  Soon,  supplies  were  all  aboard  and  back 
Accounts  were  settled  up;  of  many  friends, 
With  tears,  took  leave  and  with  our  souvenirs 
We  went  aboard,  with  others,  making  up 
A  score  of  souls;  twelve  men,  six  women  and 
Two  girls,  and  I,  the  youngest  of  the  clan. 

"  With  sails  all  set  we  slowly  moved  out  in 
The  stream,  and  down  along  the  northern  shore 
Of  Port  Culoni,  leaving  that  fair  land 
Forever,  home  and  friends  and  ties  of  blood. 
The  sorrow  of  such  partings  wound  and  grieve 
All  loving  hearts,  which  never  fully  heal, 
But  like  all  memories  sanctified, 
Imbue  the  soul  as  some  old  melody. 
Few  words  were  said,  each  seemed  absorbed  in  thought, 
No  one  companioned  as  the  gentle  solace 
Silence  gives.     The  village  in  sweet  coves, 
The  waving  grain,  the  meadow  green,  the  corn 
In  bloom,  the  olive  groves,  the  vine-clad  hills 
Passed  by  us  as  a  dream  of  one  fatigued 
Into  a  gentle  sleep.     Three  leagues  and  more 
We  measured  thus;  then  turning  sharp  around 
A  high-browed  headland,  timber  clad,  the  craft 
Caught  square  in  rig  the  swelling  wind,  and  like 
Some  mighty  swan,  ungainly  caged,  breaks  through 


70  POEMS   OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Its  chafing  bars,  and  with  an  even  wing 
And  widely  spread,  sails  outward  to  the  sea. 

"  '  Thus  curving  on  the  ^Egean,  southward, 
Passing  Psara,  sweetest  Tino,  Cycladese, 
The  fairest  gem  of  all  the  ocean ;     Out 
At  Milo,  thence  to  Cerni,  through  its  channel, 
Touched  Correnti,  passed  Tulada,  on 
The  waters  of  the  Adriatic.     Thence 
To  channel  neck  of  oceans,  on  which  stand 
The  pillars  built  by  Hercules,  whereon 
He  sat,  in  time  uncertain,  watching  all 
The  world's  great  shipping;  set  the  winds  to  fill 
Its  canvas;  frowning  when  he  wished  to  raise 
A  cyclone,  scattering  the  argosies. 

"  '  Thence  curving  southward  to  Canaries, 
Once  the  peaks  of  mountains  in  the  wide 
Dominion  of  Atlanta,  sunk  before 
The  Arian  dwelt  upon  the  plains  of  Iran, 
Reckoned  deluge  of  the  ancients 
Sent  by  Deus  as  avenger  on 
The  race  for  sin  committed,  when 
The  flood  of  old  Ducalian  came. 

"  '  Thence  south  to  Verdes,  anchoring  at 
The  Porto  Praya  for  supplies,  and  viewed 
The  belching  Fogo,  from  afar,  that  runs 
Its  red-hot  lava  in  the  sea,  the  dross 
Of  Vulcan's  mighty  forges  down  below. 


S/TY 

CANTO   XII. 

"  '  Thence  south,  a  little  west,  we  sailed  across 
The  torrid  zone,  in  one  great  stretch,  without 
A  stop,  eight  hundred  leagues,  through  scorching  heat, 
Shot  downward  from  the  sun,  as  if  that  God, 
Long-worshipped  in  the  East,  with  blazing  brand, 
Had  formed  a  savage  league  with  Phaeton, 
Curbless  son  of  Sol,  to  burn  the  world. 

"  '  When  through  the  worst  of  that  distressing  sail, 
Of  heat,  and  calm  and  storm,  we  sighted  off 
The  starboard  bow,  bleak  Cape  Saint  Rouque,  thence 
Down,  and  scarcely  twenty  miles  from  eastern  coast 
Of  old  Brazil,  we  passed  her  woodland  hills, 
Her  sunny  vales,  her  rivers  flowing  in 
The  sea,  with  here  and  there  a  sightly  port, 
All  hedged  about  with  tropic  growth  until 
We  reached  fair  Rio,  landlocked  in  the  bay. 
Three  score  and  more  of  miles  around  and  in 
The  charming  beauty  of  the  place  and  its 
Environments  we  spent  a  pleasant  month, 
Made  repairs  upon  the  vessel's  deck, 
Laid  in  supplies  to  last  three  moons,  then  out 
Again  we  floated  with  the  tide;  each  sail 
Was  set  and  catching  remnant  of  a  storm 
That  pulsed  to  anger  all  the  tropic  seas. 
Away  we  moved  along  the  wonder  coast 
That  changed  as  oft  as  some  kaleidescope, 
In  varied  hue  and  loveliness  sublime, 
Till  sighted  we  afar  the  crowning  cape 
Of  de  las  Virgines  and  entered  then 
Magellan's  straits  with  rough  hewn  islands  on 


72  POEMS    OF    LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

The  south,  and  through  three  hundred  miles 
We  slowly  worked  the  dubious  way,  between 
High  ridges,  desolate,  and  summits  crowned 
With  snows  eternal,  till  we  rounded  out 
The  dreary  channel  of  Victoria  cape, 
And  set  our  course  northwesterly  to  run 
A  stretch  of  full  five  thousand  miles  to  those 
Fair  isles  that  rest  as  gems  within  the  crown 
Of  sapphire  seas  unequaled  in  their  reach, 
And  where  eternal  spring  is  like  unto 
The  sunny  clime  we  left  at  Mitylene, 
Where  hope  we  had  of  sweet  repose  without 
The  jealous  enmity  of  the  Ottoman. 

"  '  Without  mishap  of  special  note,  we  crossed 
Again  the  torrid  zone,  and  reached  secure 
The  latitude  of  fifteen  north  and  near 
The  longitude,  one-forty  west,  within 
A  few  degrees  of  the  fair  elysium  sought, 
When  unexpected  came  a  fearful  storm. 
The  leaden  haze  about  the  setting  sun 
Grew  ominous,  the  face  of  that  great  orb 
Shone  like  a  globe  of  blood;  the  scudding  clouds 
Denoted  lifting  winds;  the  sea  did  moan 
As  does  a  leviathan  in  the  throes 
Of  death,  and  swell  on  swell  did  lift  and  fall 
Like  rolling  ridges,  capped  with  spray  and  foam. 

"  '  Conscious  of  the  fearful  squall  in  sight 
All  sails  were  reefed  and  helm  set  to  run 
Before  the  blast;  the  little  boat,  as  if 
A  thing  of  life,  did  tremble  in  her  joints 
As  when  an  antler,  hot  pursued,  essays 
To  make  a  fearful  leap;  her  scudding,  then 
Commenced,  and  raced  she  with  the  wind  and  waves, 
With  leaps  and  bounds,  unknown  before  in  all 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  73 

Her  history;  through  foam  and  blinding  spray. 

And  topping  waves,  with  course  set  north-nor'east, 

She  ran  at  least  a  thousand  miles,  and  just 

As  seemed  the  deluge  to  abate  and  when 

We  felt  the  worst  had  passed,  the  vessel  sprung 

A  leak.     The  pumps  were  set  at  work  and  for 

A  day  and  night  we  labored  might  and  main 

To  keep  the  craft  afloat,  till  land  in  sight 

Should  give  relief  from  perils  on  the  sea. 

The  hope  was  vain;  the  water  gained  upon 

Our  work  so  rapidly  the  pumps  were  left 

And  to  our  boats  as  last  resort  we  took, 

Just  ten  in  each;  but  soon  the  rolling  flood 

Swamped  one;  the  other  one,  in  which  myself 

And  people  were,  seemed  better  manned,  and  hope 

Sat  on  each  dripping  face,  when  came 

With  force  an  ugly  squall  and  over  went 

The  little  craft  and  all  went  floundering  in 

The  flood.     I  never  saw  my  parents  more, 

Nor  anyone  of  that  fair  band.     I  was 

Alone,  it  seemed  upon  the  sea,  but  soon 

I  lost  my  consciousness,  and  knew  no  more 

Until  I  saw  you  bending  over  me 

Upon  the  beach.     I  know  not  why  I  live 

And  all  the  others  gone,  unless  it  is 

Because  I  had  a  large  preserver  on, 

And  being  less  in  weight  than  others  were, 

My  head  had  better  chance  to  cap  the  waves. 

"  '  It  was  my  hope  that  we,  at  least,  should  find 
The  forms  I  loved,  but  as  you  say,  no  one 
Was  found  along  the  strand.     I  must  assume 
They  all  were  lost  past  chance  recovery.' 
She  ceased  to  speak;  her  hands  were  clasped  about 
Her  face  and  scalding  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes. 


CANTO   XIII. 

"  Conscious  of  my  duty  well  performed 
I  lived  in  peace  secluded  from  the  world, 
With  only  Rover  for  companion  in 
My  walks,  and  Sanger  daily  coming  for 
His  hay,  and  rubbed  his  nose  upon  my  arm, 
When  fed,  as  if  to  say,  '  This  is  my  thanks, 
And  when  you  wish  my  service,  be  assured 
I  shall  remember  all  your  compliments.' 
The  simple  people  of  the  lovely  vale 
Were  kind  and  true  and  well  content  with  what 
The  had — their  little  farms,  their  growing  crops 
And  stock  and  ever-swelling  flower  buds. 

"  Because  I  knew  a  little  Greek,  had  read 
Some  books  and  could  pronounce  some  words  in  Dutch , 
The  people  seemed  to  think,  in  truth,  that  I 
Was  wonderfully  wise,  and  oft  would  troop 
Across  the  vale,  to  where  my  cottage  stood 
That  I  as  referee,  might  settle  some 
Disputed  point,  such  as  the  rods,  or  roods 
An  acre  did  contain;  what  seed  to  plant? 
The  grains  of  corn  to  drop  in  every  hill? 
What  poison  best  to  rid  their  fertile  fields 
Of  rodent  pests?     What  flowers  should  be  grown 
In  pots?     What  roots  to  grow  for  dairy  stock? 
The  safest  medicine  for  chicken-pox? 
And  other  questions  more  profound  than  these — 
As  depth  to  plow,  or  how  to  manage  bees? 
To  dwell  with  people  thus  some  one  may  say 
That  time  is  wasted  opportunity, 
Because  the  appetite  of  higher  mind 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  75 

Hath  naught  but  barrenness  to  feed  upon, 
Without  the  quench  of  thirst  for  better  things 
That  beam  from  upper  levels  of  the  mind, 
Like  burning  stars  that  shine  above  the  peaks 
Of  cragged  Teneriffe  and  Everest. 

"  But  ere  the  verdict  on  this  theme  abides, 
I  beg  you  pause  and  counsel  with  your  heart 
To  find  reflection  there  of  what  we  are 
And  of  design  for  human  betterment. 
Wealth  may  last  us  for  a  shining  day, 
But  brick  and  mortar  have  no  souls  in  them, 
And  many  gilded  fronts  that  mark  the  line 
Of  some  great  thoroughfare,  contain  behind 
But  whitened  sepulchres  where  feast  and  wine 
Inflame  the  animal  within  to  such 
Excesses  as  the  devil  loves,  and  think 
They  live  to  purpose  in  the  world  without 
A  recompense  for  increment  received. 
Cold  brick  and  mortar  have  no  souls  to  save. 

"  Great  cities  are,  at  best,  but  cancers  in 
The  stomach  of  the  world,  that  putrefy, 
And  but  for  increase  from  the  rural  homes 
Would  rot  and  stink  with  desolation. 
God  never  made  a  city  in  the  world, 
And  there  are  scattered  ruins  everywhere 
To  mark  the  destiny  of  all  the  rest. 
God  rules!  His  everlasting  laws  defied, 
Have  no  condolence  for  the  miseries 
Of  men  who  never  learn  the  lesson  of 
Their  lives,  no  more  than  pigs  that  fill  with  swill 
And  are  content  to  sleep  the  stupor  off. 
God's  bounty  is  sufficient  for  us  all, 
And  some  day  each  will  have  his  share,  when  each 
Shall  recognize  the  right  of  all  to  live. 


76  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

"  Nenona,  full  recovered,  grew  in  strength 
And  beauty  every  day,  as  when  the  chill 
And  sear  of  winter's  passed,  sweet  Chloris  comes 
With  all  her  train  to  garland  early  spring. 
Her  tender  words  and  cheerfulness  seemed  like 
A  garden  of  exotics  giving  off 
Its  fragrance  to  each  passer-by;  and  when 
A  day  of  recreation  came  for  all 
The  children  in  the  vale,  and  troop  on  troop 
With  cheer  and  glee  went  singing  on  the  way 
To  hunt  for  nuts,  or  blooming  treasures  in 
The  woods,  or  romp  upon  the  picnic  grounds, 
About  Nenona  flocked  the  spruce  young  lads, 
And  comely  lasses,  like  so  many  birds 
Of  minor  plumage,  round  a  singing  lark, 
Unmindful  of  their  own  sweet  melodies. 

"  She  seemed  as  one  who  had  no  thought  of  self. 
But  was  supremely  happy  in  the  joy 
Of  other  hearts,  as  when  the  pearly  drops 
Of  dew  that  glisten  in  the  morning  sun 
Transform  to  sweetness,  rosebuds  drooping  in 
A  garden  poorly  tilled  and  famishing 
For  showers  that  so  seldom  come. 
Her  dress,  though  plain  and  simple,  always  neat,, 
And  every  band  and  tuck  set  most  complete. 
Her  golden  hair,  untrammeled  in  its  sway, 
Fell  gently  down  in  wave  on  wave,  upon 
Her  shapely  shoulders,  like  a  shower  of 
Sweet  crocus  bloom  put  forth  in  early  spring. 
Her  face  had  not  a  flaw,  'twas  perfect  Greek, 
With  hazel  eyes  beyond  the  reach  of  words 
Conceived  in  song,  or  range  of  common  minds. 


CANTO    XIV. 

"  Their  teacher  gone  afar  to  pastures  new, 
The  people  of  the  vale  besought  of  me 
To  play  the  pedagogue,  and  prove  the  love 
I  claimed  to  have  for  all  that  did  pertain 
To  them.     And  while  I  turned  the  thought 
Of  what  was  best  to  do,  Nenona  came 
To  me,  and  laying  hold  of  both  my  hands 
And  lifting  up  her  face,  as  does  a  rose 
With  glistening  dewdrops  swelling  from  its  heart, 
And  all  her  soul  reflected  from  her  eyes, 
She  said,  in  words  that  harsh  makes  sound  a  harp: 

"  c  Two  years  have  passed  since  from  a  corpse,  found  on 
The  flood,  you  brought  me  back  to  life  again 
And  gave  me  friends  and  home  when  all  was  lost 
To  me,  and  since  that  time  have  been  my  guide 
And  star  of  hope,  with  light  as  true  and  pure 
As  Carnar's  in  his  hold  on  Eridanus. 
I  know  the  vale  in  which  we  live  is  fair, 
And  much  of  earthly  charm  is  gathered  here 
And  then  these  dear,  good  people  have  so  grown 
The  tendrils  of  affection  in  my  heart, 
That  I  can  feel  their  hold  and  mastery 
In  every  pulse,  like  thongs  of  gossamer, 
Too  fine  to  be  definable  in  words. 
I  give  full  sympathy  for  all  their  loves 
And  for  each  ache  and  sorrow  that  they  have. 

"  '  So  beg  I  for  your  audience  to  hear 
My  simple  plea  that  you  may  grant  this  wish 
Of  theirs  most  willingly,  and  furthermore, 
In  this  emergency,  my  selfishness 


78  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Takes  shape  decidedly.     If  teach  you  not 

The  school,  what  then?     Some  other  must  enlist 

And  who?     So  far  are  we  from  centers  of 

The  world  and  pay  so  small,  that  brains  we  can 

Secure,  perhaps,  will  be  most  primitive, 

And  some  of  us  have  hopes  above  the  bogs 

And  barren  steeps  of  simple  doggerel. 

"  i  And  should  you  leave  us  for  some  other  place 
Congenial  and  better  pay,  I  feel 
The  moon  would  never  shine  again, 
My  mother-tongue  \vould  fade  from  memory 
As  does  a  summer  dream  upon  the  coast 
Of  Labrador.     Philosophy  would  live 
As  something  passed,  to  me,  and  all 
Ambition  lose  the  prop  of  hope,  and  set 
Afloat  my  craft  of  life  without  a  sail, 
And  rudderless,  to  drift  upon  the  sea. 

"  *  I  know  you  have  no  present  wish  to  teach 
The  little  school.     It's  whole  year's  wage,  in  cash, 
Is  hardly  worth  a  single  thought  of  yours; 
But  then,  how  much  of  good  would  come  of  it? 
The  sprint  we  had  did  do  the  best  she  could, 
And  etchings  on  our  simple  mind  did  make; 
But  so  confused  they  ran  about,  that  when 
We  sought  to  find  a  point  as  center  for 
A  thought,  there  was  no  anchor  for  a  hold. 

"  '  It  may  be  that  I  err,  but  then  it  seems  to  me 
The  smallest  thought  conveyed  should  bear  upon 
A  greater  one,  so  when  the  structure  is 
Complete,  might  be  a  tenement,  for  one 
In  love  with  gentle  nature  and  with  God, 
With  wish  and  crowning  outlook  far  above 
The  selfish  ends  and  plodding  ways  of  men. 
So  if  you  will  but  take  the  little  school, 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  79 

I  will  most  gladly  pose  as  one  of  your 
Small  satellites  and  catch  reflection  when 
I  can  to  light  my  way  to  higher  flights, 
And  preparation  for  the  great  unknown. 

"  '  At  times,  perhaps,  I  might  sail  off  among 
The.  spheres  and  conjure  up  a  thousand  forms 
Of  beauty,  there,  and  lean  with  confidence 
Upon  some  myth  unsteadfast  in  support, 
Or  on  a  crooked  stick  of  poesy; 
But  be  assured,  I  will  return  to  sit 
About  your  feet,  as  do  the  skipping  lambs 
Return,  and  tired,  to  the  larger  fold. 

"  '  I  see  you  hesitate,  and  have  a  look 
Far  off,  as  one  who  has  a  memory 
Of  other  days,  when  life's  bright  dreams  were  new, 
And  through  the  mist  and  sere  and  yellow  haze 
Of  time,  discerns  a  form  once  counted  true. 
Why  start  at  this?     I  meant  no  harm,  be  sure, 
My  brim  of  girlish  freak  does  run  my  tongue 
So  much  at  random  that  I  sometimes  sport 
With  sacred  things  unmindful  of  the  hurt. 
If  wounded  you  unheeded,  sad  I  am 
To  know  it,  so,  if  worth  a  fig  to  you 
As  salve  to  'suage  the  sore,  I  will  apply 
The  balm  of  all  my  sympathy  and  love, 
As  showers  down  the  myrtle's  blooming  sweets 
Upon  the  earth,  when  shaken  by  the  wind.' 


CANTO    XV. 

"  There  seemed  no  answer  to  a  plea  like  this 
Save  yield  possession  of  a  fortress  stormed 
By  dimpled  wit  and  charming  sentiment. 
It  seems  there  have  been  times  when  castle  walls 
And  belching  gnns  have  bid  defiance  to 
Great  legions  fronting  them,  but  then  what  man 
Can  stand  unmoved  before  such  loveliness 
Of  form  and  mind,  pure  as  the  fountain  of 
Ar'thusa,  soul  enchanting  as  the  harp 
Of  Amphion,  with  tact  and  gentle  grace 
That  never  seemed  to  recognize  itself? 

"  Austereness,  grave  as  Nestor,  sage  of  Pylos, 
Would  have  melted  like  the  polar  snows 
Exposed  to  glowing  heat  of  tropic  suns. 
Consent  secured,  this  hallowmas  tripped  through 
The  vale,  like  one  who  had  important  news 
To  tell,  and  everywhere  she  went,  there  came 
About  her  sunny  faces,  as  of  old 
When  some  fair  Eastern  nymph  would  sing 
Delightful  songs  from  Ramayana's  page. 

"  When  full  installed  as  teacher  of  the  school, 
And  every  one  was  busy  with  the  work, 
I  sought  to  find  the  soul  of  every  child. 
And  he  who  studies  here,  will  shed  a  tear 
Of  sympathy  for  human  entities 
With  lives  and  characters  inborn,  which  ill 
Or  good  predominates,  as  circumstance 
And  antecedents  may  by  dint  constrain. 
To  find  the  drift  and  cause  of  character 
And  remedies  to  counterbalance  wrong, 

80 


81 


With  application  not  constrained,  is  first 
Of  all,  the  problems  which  the  teacher  has 
To  solve,  before  much  progress  can  be  made. 

"  As  illustrative  of  a  multitude 
Of  temperaments,  so  plainly  manifest, 
I  had  a  boy  in  school  called  Tony  Flinn, 
A  little  Irish  lad,  with  lanky  sides, 
And  eyes  of  gray,  with  head  in  knots  behind, 
Square  forehead,  ample  mouth,  new-moon  in  shape. 
With  corners  upward  turned.     He  seemed  'to  live 
On  pranks,  and  did  appear  to  have  no  aim 
In  life  but  fun,  that  helped  digestion  in 
A  way  to  make  a  stringy  doughnut  seem 
An  ample  substitute  for  provender 
Of  prince,  or  kingly  epicure.     A  pun 
In  words,  slick  said,  would  make  him  laugh  a  week. 

"  To  get  his  mind  full  settled  on  his  book 
Was  harder  work  than  digging  in  a  ditch. 
With  speller  up  before  his  face,  his  eyes 
Would  shine  around  its  corners  like  the  sun, 
When  shadowed  by  the  moon  in  full  eclipse. 
His  hair  was  short  and  red  and  stood  like  quills 
Upon  his  head,  with  fair  skin,  freckled  face, 
And  high  cheek  bones  above  a  rounded  chin, 
Which  counseled  with  a  jaw  of  little  force. 

"  To  cure  him  of  this  ailment,  nothing  seemed 
Sufficient,  short  of  moulding  him  again, 
As  does  a  potter,  remnants  of  his  clay. 
But  scant  of  skill  in  this  direction,  I 
Essayed  to  get  myself  a  lodgment  in 
His  heart,  as  does  a  sympathetic  song 
Of  long  remembrance  start  the  brimming  tear. 
To  fairly  mould  the  human  mind  within 
Its  angled  tenement  it  did  appear 


82  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

That  hickory  oil  had  lost  its  potency, 

That  while  chastisement  of  this  sort  may  curb 

And  cow  the  spirit  for  a  time,  it  is 

As  plants  of  bitter  fruit  set  out  to  grow 

The  golden  apples  of  Hisperidese. 

So  after  much  of  caustic  drill  and  rough 

Experiment,  I  hit  upon  this  plan: 

"  One  day  when  all  the  children  were  at  play 
This  boy,  by  chance,  the  schoolroom  entered  for 
His  hat,  when  catching  him  around  the  neck, 
I  said,  '  Dear  Tony,  you  are  not,  in  fact, 
A  naughty  boy.     Your  only  wrong  is  fun, 
Provoking  every  little  incident 
To  roar  the  school  when  lessons  are  on  hand. 
Now,  if  you'll  straighten  out  your  angle  face 
And  settle  down  to  sober  work  while  we 
Are  all  engaged,  I  will  agree  that  you 
Shall  have  a  romp  with  me  at  every  noon, 
And  tell  a  story  that  will  make  you  laugh 
With  all  the  school,  arid  count  you  as  my  friend/ 

"  In  this  display  of  friendly  interest  in. 
The  boy's  untutored  ways,  there  did  appear 
A  glintage  in  his  lustrous  eyes,  as  does 
A  light  that  burns  upon  a  distant  hill 
As  beacon  that  a  human  form  is  there, 
And  with  expression  such  as  comes  when  soul 
With  soul  conceives  a  unity,  he  said, 
Between  his  sobs,  '  I  know  it's  wrong  to  laugh 
So  much  and  start  the  school  to  cackling  when 
The  lesson's  on,  but  then,  in  truth,  it  seems 
To  swell  and  gurgle  up  like  bubbles  on 
My  mother's  tub  when  lathered  for  the  wash. 
But  since  you  are  so  good  and  talk  so  kind 
To  me,  I'll  try  to  choke  my  mischief  down. 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  83 

As  doughnuts  dry  and  forced,  without  a  drink, 
Until  my  full  of  mirth,  without  degree 
Of  impropriety,  may  flow  at  will, 
And  run  at  random  as  a  passing  stream 
That's  summer  fed  from  all  the  woodland  hills/ 
Thenceforth  young  Tony  loved  his  fun  not  less, 
But  books  and  teacher,  seeming  something  more, 
Loved  order  from  controlling  strength  of  love, 
As  sweetest  dews  in  sunshine  sparkle  most, 
Where  flowers  grow  without  the  chill  of  frost. 
"  The  hardest  case  in  all  the  school  was  one 
Ungainly  Spanish  boy,  coarse-grained,  with  head 
Straight  up  and  wide  behind,  with  crown  well  raised 
And  forward  sloping  down  to  near  the  brows; 
With  eyes  like  beads,  in  black,  deep-set; 
A  sloping  nose  and  short,  with  lips  compressed 
With  corners  down  and  jaws  most  prominent 
That  ran  like  bands  of  steel  up  through  his  face, 
With  bulging  skull  above  his  flabby  ears — 
A.yoilng  gorilla  born,  a  brute — what  could 
Be  done  with  him?     What  virtue  there  impart? 
He  mixed  but  little  in  the  romp  and  plays 
Of  other  boys,  but  slipped  about  from  place 
To  place,  with  cunning  eyes,  as  of  a  fox 
Nearby  a  flock  of  singing  larks,  or  as 
A  wolf,  full  half  concealed,  reviews  the  lambs 
That  frisk  about  the  field  or  glades  of  green; 
To  grind  a  bug  or  worm  beneath  his  heel. 
Or  wring  the  neck  of  some  lame  bird,  or  stone 
A  dog,  or  hoot  to  scare  the  grazing  herd, 
Seemed  but  quintessence  of  delight  to  him. 
To  bid  him  do,  was  bid  a  thing  undone; 
And  to  destroy,  was  all  he  had  of  fun. 
I  coaxed  and  pled,  spoke  words  of  gentle  cheer; 


84  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Shamed  at  his  heartless  acts  and  vicious  moods, 
Then  plied  the  lash  without  avail,  save  at 
Each  sturdy  stroke  I  saw  his  snake-eyes  gleam 
Like  fiery  glintage  on  a  darkened  stream. 

"  Revenge  sat  full  upon  his  somber  face, 
While  conscious  duty  was  a  blank  to  him. 
The  pity  is,  a  creature,  human,  thus, 
Was  ever  made,  and  made,  all  such,  should  have 
No  power  left  to  reproduce  his  kind. 
At  last  1  gave  the  struggle  up  and  sent 
Him  home,  as  one  in  whom  the  hope  is  lost 
For  better  things,  and  clog  to  better  lives— 
And  now,  as  last  of  these  extremes,  I'll  name 
The  frisky,  bright-eyed  Robby  Hutchinson. 
He  had  a  head,  gourd-like,  and  handle  off, 
With  extra  swell  behind  his  coon-like  ears, 
And  flattened  skull,  commencing  where  the  hair 
In  brindle  kinks  began  to  crawl  up  to 
The  crown;  his  eyes  of  hazel,  had  a  light 
In  them,  the  hawk  is  not  a  stranger  to; 
His  nose,  full,  high  and  drooping  at  the  point, 
Was  not,  in  shape,  unlike  the  eagle's  beak. 
His  lips,  thick-set  and  cut  across  his  face 
Without  a  curve,  with  jaw  of  ample  strength, 
And  chin  that  rounded  in  a  swelling  lump. 
His  mind  was  bright  and  active  as  a  mink's 
He  loved  the  sports  afield,  but  ever  edged 
Toward  the  maidens  skipping  of  the  rope, 
And  tagged  with  them,  when  on  the  sly  he  could 
Essay,  without  observe  of  colder  eyes. 

"His  greatest  fault  was  pilfering;  no  chance 
Escaped  he  could  improve  to  scoop  a  ball, 
Or  marble  not  his  own;  his  pockets  full 
And  bulging  out  with  nuts  and  rusty  knives 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  85 

And  keeps  and  pencil  stubs  and  bits  of  string 

Were  laughing  stock  for  all  the  grinning  school. 

With  expert  hand  and  undue  haste  he  would 

Divide  some  other  student's  hoard  of  fruit. 

But  never  once  conceived  of  such  a  thing 

As  kindly  give  and  take  in  consonance 

Of  soul  in  human  reciprocity. 

He  seemed,  in  truth,  the  early  counterpart 

Of  many  anxious  men,  who  strive  through  life 

To  pile  up  wealth  they  cannot  use,  and  die 

Undone  and  lost  to  all  the  elements 

That  was  intended  should  distinguish  them 

From  ghouls  and  brutish  beasts — unsouled — 

To  rot  as  carrion  in  a  vaulted  grave. 

What  can  be  done  with  such  as  these?     The  warp 

Of  life  without  the  filling  woof  that  makes 

The  tangle  threadbar  in  the  sight  of  God! 

Surprising  is  the  thought,  and  dumb  we  stand 

Amid  infinity  of  problems  yet 

Unsolved  and  feel  about  for  evidence 

Of  what  we  are,  with  just  a  glimmer  in 

The  distance  of  a  star  that  moves  the  heart 

To  hope  it  is  the  harbinger  to  light 

The  soul  of  man  to  knowledge  of  himself: — 

The  centerstance  of  all  philosophy — 

To  know  which  is  to  know  the  remedy 

For  all  our  ills  and  knowing,  give  us  strength 

Of  purpose  to  apply  the  urgent  need. 


CANTO  XVI. 

"  For  three  full  years  I  labored  thus  among 
This  simple  trusting  people;  proud  they  seemed 
Of  progress  made  by  all  their  little  ones, 
And  praised  my  work  with  many  kindly  words. 
In  these  three  years  Nenona  had  outgrown 
The  place,  as  does  a  thrifty  myrtle  top 
All  lesser  growth,  with  bloom  that  stinteth  not. 
The  reputation  of  its  excellence. 

"  She  seemed  the  idol  of  each  heart  in  all 
The  land,  example  in  deportment  marked, 
And  when  distress  sat  brooding  on  the  mind 
Of  some  poor  soul,  a  tear,  or  tender  word 
From  her,  of  sympathy,  that  led  the  way 
To  hope,  the  darkness  disappeared,  as  when 
A  cloud  obscuring  light  unshades  the  sun. 

"  She  had  no  art  but  that  which  nature  gave; 
No  studied  pose,  or  word  to  gain  control, 
But  in  her  missions  merciful,  pure  soul 
Met  soul,  as  do  the  welling  waters  of 
A  limpid  stream  commingle  with  the  flow 
Of  some  sweet  river  running  to  the  sea. 
In  fact,  all  language  stands  abashed,  and  feels 
Confused  in  utter  helplessness  to  name 
A  pearl  so  true  and  constant  in  its  light. 

"  But  then,  I  felt  that  all  things  beautiful 
Must  pass.     Infinity  has  thus  ordained, 
And  though  one  staggers  with  the  load  imposed 
At  duty's  call,  there  is  no  other  light 
Along  the  weary  path  of  life  that  gives 
To  view  the  guide-posts  on  the  way,  but  that 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  87 

Which  conscience  sheds  upon  the  trusting  soul. 

At  times,  it  seemed,  I  felt  like  one  who  finds 

A  shining  star  and  in  supremacy 

Of  selfishness  would  hide  it  from  the  gaze 

Of  everyone  but  his,  unmindful  of 

The  darkness  wrought  upon  the  world  by  such 

Ungainly  mood  and  depth  of  littleness. 

"  So,  curbing  as  I  could,  each  selfish  wish 
And  nerving  all  my  better  nature  for 
The  sacrifice,  I  did  resolve  that  she 
Should  go  to  some  academy  or  school 
Sufficiently  advanced  and  skillful  in 
Design,  to  find  the  crowning  peaks  whereon 
Consoling  light  of  knowledge  ever  shines. 

"  Not  such  as  blunt  and  bend  and  warp  the  mind 
By  sect  or  austere  creed  embodiments, 
That  circumscribe  the  broader  range  of  thought 
And  cramp  it  in  a  sphere  no  larger  than 
The  cranium  of  some  assuming  crank, 
Or  gloomy  cloister,  who  prates  of  things 
He  knows  not  of — but  to  a  training  school, 
That  teaches  God  in  nature,  scope  and  breadth 
So  magnified,  to  fit  infinity 
Of  space,  and  show  divinity  in  all 
Things  made,  inanimate  and  such  as  live 
In  form  of  man,  as  cap,  and  under  him 
The  beast  and  bird  and  teeming  world. 

"  So,  on  a  golden  afternoon  that  marked 
The  change  of  summer  heat  to  autumn's  edge, 
With  all  its  glory  of  maturing  fruits, 
When  mingled  green  and  yellow  awnings  on 
The  stately  trees,  hung  passively  in  place 
And  whispered  to  each  passing  breeze  of  what 
Their  fate  should  be,  and  when  their  call  would  come 


88  POEMS    OF   LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

To  move  like  some  pale,  mournful  caravan, 
To  bosom  all  their  sorrows  in  the  earth, 
As  mortals  do,  when  life  has  spent  its  force 
For  good  or  ill,  Nenona  sat,  and  I 
Beside  her,  on  the  smooth,  round,  barkless  trunk 
.  Of  alder  tree,  long  prone  upon  the  ground. 

"  Away  to  westward,  where  we  looked,  the  sun 
Stood  mantled  in  a  silver  cloud,  while  down 
Below  his  amber  skirts,  the  sea's  great  stretch 
Of  surface,  marked  beyond  the  horizon 
With  murmur  undefinable  to  those 
Who  never  heard  its  dismal  tale  of  woe. 

"  While  thus  we  viewed  and  mused  in  silence  on 
The  beauty  of  the  scene,  I  felt  the  time 
Had  come  to  speak  of  that  which  I  would  fain 
Forego,  had  heart  or  duty  prompted  less. 
While  yet  I  thought  about  the  manner  of 
Approach,  Nenona  thus  delightfully 
Exclaimed,  while  spread  the  soul's  imprint  upon 
Her  face,  as  moisture  follows  foot  imprint  in 
Yielding  sand  along  the  sounding  sea: 

"  '  0,  lovely  land,  of  Lesbo's  summer  skies! 
In  flowing  robes  of  green  and  brightest  gold, 
Where  dwelleth  surely  some  Divinity 
Of  Amphion  that  buildeth  up  this  scene, 
With  harp,  enchanting  in  its  melodies.' 

"  '  Well  done,'  said  I,  '  that  strain  is  surely  from 
Sweet  Sapho's  string,  that  sounds  forever  in 
The  fair,  sweet,  sunny  streets  of  Mitylene; 
But  since  romance  does  sink  to  littleness 
When  life's  oppressive  load  of  care  commands 
Attention  sad  and  seriously, 
I  wish  a  confidential  chat  with  you. 

1  i  Five  years  and  more  have  passed,  Nenona,  since 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  89 

You  came  among  us  as  a  waif  cast  from 

The  cruel  sea,  like  some  surprising  bud 

From  tropic  zone,  which  we  have  nurtured  in 

Development,  as  does  a  botanist, 

Some  new-found  treasure  of  the  floral  world, 

Which,  in  its  tender  culturing,  does  lean 

Upon  its  neighbor  for  support,  with  breath 

Of  rarest  excellence.     So  has  it  been 

With  you,  Nenona;  more  than  all  the  hope 

We  cherished  at  your  coming,  has,  in  truth, 

Been  realized,  for  wheresoever  thou 

Art  known  in  all  this  sunny  land,  there  hangs, 

Inviting  to  your  pull,  the  latch  string  of 

Each  household,  as  a  breath  of  blooming  spring 

Finds  gentle  welcome  to  all  human  hearts. 

"  '  I  do  not  wish  to  flatter  you;  in  fact, 
It  would  be  vain  to  undertake  a  task 
So  difficult,  and  so  I  hope  you'll  take 
No  umbrage  at  these  seeming  compliments. 
And  if  you  claim  that  I  should  verify 
My  words,  I  will  present  to  you  a  wall 
Of  human  testimony  that  shall  more 
Than  satisfy.     If  this  be  not  enough, 
I  will  collect  the  lovely  linnets  and 
Fair  kittens  of  the  vale,  and  forming  one 
Great  ring  of  all  the  people — you  among 
The  rest — and  setting  down  the  show  of  birds 
And  little  cats,  as  centerstance,  and  if 
They  move  not  in  a  drove  toward  your  stand, 
I  will  agree,  upon  my  bending  knees, 
To  pay  the  forfeit  of  this  compliment. 

"  l  But  then  I  will  desist.     It  is  enough 
To  know  you  live  among  us  now,  and  who 
Has  such  effrontery  to  undertake 


90  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Description  of  the  morning  star,  when  she 

Is  manifest  to  every  living  soul? 

The  counsel  which  I  wish  with  you  is  this — 

By  application  most  remarkable. 

And  measure  of  intelligence  to  see 

The  way,  your  progress  up  the  rugged  steeps 

That  lead  to  summits  of  eternal  light, 

Has  passed  the  stations  where  we  have  to  stop 

And  resting,  wonder  what  is  further  on. 

"  '  To  cramp  a  soul  that  hath  a  flight  like  yours 
In  boundaries  of  such  a  place  as  this, 
Is  surely  sacrilege  of  God's  intent — 
To  cover  jewels  with  a  rusty  spade — 
That  should  outshine  the  transient  glory  of 
All  earthly  wealth,  as  arching  rainbows  span 
The  somber  figure  of  the  whirling  globe. 

"  i  As  brother,  older  by  ten  years,  my  wish 
Has  been  advance  for  you  and  happiness, 
And  since  there  is  no  further  progress  here 
Along  the  lines  of  higher  learning,  you 
Must  go  where  there  is  latitude  to  reach 
Above  the  half-way  round  on  which  I  stand, 
That  loving  prophesy  of  all  the  vale 
May  be  fulfilled — that  you,  in  sober  truth, 
Shall  ultimately  gain  the  borderland 
Where  bar  is  placed  that  separates  the  reach 
Of  mortal  mind  from  that  which  is  Divine. 

"  '  Now,  say  the  word  that  you  will  go  from  this 
Poor  stinted  place,  to  learn  the  better  life 
And  higher  aim  attainable  by  one 
So  favored  mentally  and  morally 
With  all  the  excellence  of  soul  and  sense, 
Essential  for  a  flight  of  mind  conceived, 
That  follows  shining  stars,  when  breathless 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  91 

Others  pause  upon  the  brink  of  further  flight. 
The  cost  of  such  advance  shall  be  my  own 
And  I  will  make  arrangements  readily 
And  more  than  recompense  shall  be  to  me 
The  knowledge  of  my  aid  in  this  affair.' 


CANTO    XVII. 

"  When  closed  I  this  well-meaning  speech,  she  rose 
And  stood  before  me  like  a  statue  from 
The  mystic  hand  of  Phidias,  who  had 
The  art  to  make  a  marble  face  and  form 
Breathe  inspiration  in  the  soul  of  all 
Who  has  the  fortune  to  behold  his  work. 
Not  rigid,  stately  stood  she  there,  like  one 
Who  hears  her  doom,  yet  steady  as  a  star 
Holds  down  the  flood  of  her  great  agony. 

"  Her  eyes  were  on  me  like  two  orbs  that  look 
Out  from  the  depths  of  space,  with  sad  reproach, 
Expressive  of  surprise,  yet  no  ill-will 
Or  thought  offended  seemed  to  cluster  there. 
I  could  but  look,  my  eyes  refused  to  gaze 
Another  way,  as  when  enchantment  holds 
The  mind  engaged  and  blank  is  all  things  else. 
At  last  her  lips  began  to  move  and  like 
The  strings  of  some  sweet  instrument  that  breathe 
And  quiver  in  prelude  when  lightly  touched 
By  master  hand,  she  said  in  tones  that  seemed 
Like  some  forgotten  melody  :  *  I  grieve 
To  hear  your  words.     My  hope  has  been  to  live 
Here  always,  have  no  other  home,  nor  wish 
No  other  while  I  live,     No  doubt  you  feel 
This  change  is  for  my  good.     The  sacrifice 
You  do  propose  to  make  in  my  behalf 
Does  well  assure  concern  and  wish  to  aid 
To  uttermost  in  making  life  for  me 
A  fragrant  bloom,  full  worthy  of  the  care 
And  tender  nurturing  so  lavishly 

92 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  93 

Bestowed  by  you  and  all  the  people  of 

This  charming  vale,  but  why  transport  a  half 

Grown  linnet  to  another  nest  when  all 

Its  heart  is  here?     I  never  shall  forget 

The  priceless  aid  you  have  afforded  me; 

A  father  never  offered  more  to  one 

He  loves;  a  brother,  lover,  often  less 

Yet,  is  it  evidence  of  deeper  care 

To  send  a  fairly  fledgling  soul  beyond 

The  wish  and  haven  of  its  greatest  need? 

To  titled  schools,  where  sage  professors,  glum 

With  mighty  thoughts  that  shine  among  the  stars, 

Possess  the  only  ideal  that  love  and  faith, 

With  straining  nerves,  should  follow  to  the  grave? 

While  more  of  thought  and  deeper  culture  of 

The  mind,  is  surely  manifest,  yet  who 

Will  say  that  learning  in  the  abstract  brings 

A  creature  nearer  God  than  he  who  dwells 

Within  these  blooming  groves,  with  every  thought 

Turned  inward  on  himself,  and  in  the  heart 

Of  nature  delving  to  discover  truth 

And  his  relation  to  Divinity? 

u  '  Like  flowers  grown  in  gardens  fair,  the  mind, 
Full  tutored  where  gentle  warmth  of  loving  care 
Stands  thwart  each  avenue  of  yewpas  growth, 
Is  surely  sweet  and  most  commendable. 
But  where  is  strength  of  such  surroundings  found? 
Where  teeming  thousands  hurry  through  the  world, 
With  thought  of  naught  but  gain  and  giddy  show, 
While  depths  of  sin  and  misery  stalk  on 
The  streets  and  harbor  where  the  lights  are  dim? 

u  '  It  is  accounted  wise  and  great  to  soar 
On  eagle  wings  to  find  a  star  beyond 
The  keen  of  common  men  ;  but  then  it  seems 


94  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

To  me,  a  master-mind,  unaided  by  the  heart, 

Is  like  a  ship  that  goes  to  sea  without 

A  rudder,  seeking  oceans  fathomless, 

And  baffled  by  the  winds,  and  currents  crossed, 

Brings  back  to  port  no  treasured  argosies. 

"  i  Your  compliments  have  been  profuse,  most  kind 
And  seemingly  sincere.     I  treasure  them 
As  rarest  gems,  but  cannot  wear  them  all 
At  once,  unless  I  make  a  gaudy  show 
That  turns  my  head  from  things  more  serious, 
And  starts  the  flush  of  swelling  vanity. 

"  4  Do  not  forget  my  flaxen  curls  and  dress 
Of  childhood's  gone.     As  well  you  say,  five  years 
And  more  have  passed,  since  chance  or  something  else 
Moved  with  me  on  the  rushing  waters  to 
Your  out-stretched  arms,  unconscious  of  myself; 
Helpless  and  frail  beyond  my  youthful  years; 
The  tender  hearts  and  hands  that  wooed  me  back 
To  life  again,  will  rest  forever  in 
My  memory,  like  fragrant  incense  on 
An  altar  built  of  love,  and  for  your  part 
In  this  affair,  I  have  no  words  or  song 
Of  praise,  in  any  wise  accceptable. 

"  '  The  days  and  months  and  years  so  kindly  spent 
To  guide  my  steps  aright,  and  bring  within 
The  compass  of  my  simple  mind  the  true 
And  beautiful  in  thought  and  sense  of  soul 
That  maketh  mortal  something  more  than  flesh 
And  blood  and  life  a  talisman  in  charm 
To  reach  above  the  sordid  aims  of  time 
Into  eternities  of  better  things, 
Is  work  of  yours  I  never  can  forget ; 
And  hoped  till  now  that  I  might  ever  be 
Companion  in  your  rambles  through  these  woods 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  95 

And  learn  to  drink  more  deeply  of  the  stream 
Of  wisdom  ever  flowing  from  your  lips. 

"  '  But  since  you  bid  my  leaving  this  abode 
For  other  climes — I  know  not  where — to  gain 
More  polish  and  less  soul  among  the  learned 
Of  other  lands,  I  feel  constrained  to  go. 
Each  selfish  want  and  thought  must  be  with  me 
Subordinate  to  wish  of  yours,  for  while 
I  love  these  scenes  as  does  the  simple  child 
A  fairyland  of  butterflies,  I  know 
Your  counsel,  ever  good,  should  bear  in  weight 
Above  my  preference,  as  does  a  star 
The  light  and  shifting  dust  of  fading  leaves. 

"  '  You  praise  my  work  in  aid  of  other  lives 
As  most  complete,  but  really,  I  think 
Such  work  is  never  done,  nor  never  can, 
So  long  as  mortals  need  a  helping  hand, 
So  long  as  duty  calls,  sad  want  we  see, 
And  heart  of  heart  does  seek  its  sympathy. 

"  i  Perhaps  'tis  for  the  best  that  I  should  go; 
But  then  I  think  the  yield  will  surely  be 
But  scanty  recompense  for  what  I  leave. 
Acclimating  oft  kills  the  fairest  growth; 
No  jasmine  can  stand  the  winter  chill 
Of  northern  clime,  and  fades  the  myrtle  bloom 
Among  the  polar  pines;  why  then  attempt 
What  nature  does  abhor,  in  planting  growth 
Of  tropic  clime  beyond  the  chilling  range 
Of  Capricorn?     No  recompense  will  come 
Of  it,  no  more  than  can  of  planting 
Sunny  lives,  where  wraps  of  fur  and  cold 
Utility  do  sap  the  human  heart 
Of  sentiment,  and  make  affinities 
In  naught  but  selfish  ends!     A  monster  garbed 


96  POEMS    OF    LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

With  gold  seems  God  of  more  than  half  the  world. 

"  l  Why  then  attempt  to  further  plant  in  fields 
Where  mortals  are  esteemed  as  dross  compared 
To  shining  wealth?     Which  is  the  greater  need 
In  all  the  world  today,  a  competence 
With  soul,  and  love  for  other  lives,  or  gain 
That  takes  the  increment  from  honest  toil? 

"  '  Ah,  Sir,  solution  of  these  thoughts  are  far 
Above  my  childlike  wits,  but  then,  they  will 
Well  up  in  every  loving  heart  to  plague 
Philosophy  that  seeks  to  answer  them. 
It  seems  to  me  the  fairest  life  in  all 
The  world  is  that  which  is  contented  with 
Enough  and  gives  of  that  to  help  those  more 
In  need,  and  labors  earnestly  for  light 
And  truth  and  human  betterment? 

"  '  Each  simple  atom  of  the  universe, 
Each  living  thing  that  moves  upon  the  earth, 
Should  fill  its  little  sphere  and  be  at  rest. 
It  seems  to  have  been  so  ordained,  and  he 
Who  clambers  high  upon  the  shoulders  of 
The  race,  regardless  of  the  rights  of  those 
Beneath,  hath  lost,  in  truth,  the  semblance  of 
Humanity,  and  monster  makes  of  that 
Which  God  intended  should  be  help  to  man. 

"  i  If  pilgrimage  to  crowning  schools  of  fame, 
That  overlook  the  busy  marts  of  men 
Is  acme  of  the  sunburnt  country  swain, 
And  highest  aim  in  God's  utility, 
Why  does  the  forest  bloom  upon  the  plain? 
Beside  the  running  streams  and  on  the  slopes 
That  lift  their  verdure  upward  to  the  sky? 
Where  start  the  streams  that  glint  the  sunny  vales 
And  sing  to  Him  who  made  their  shining  pearls? 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  97 

Why  wave  the  fields  and  meadows  blooming,  with 
The  incense  of  Divinity,  not  cramped 
Within  great  city  walls,  to  please  with  form 
And  fragrance  all  the  motley,  moving  throng? 

"  'The  mystery  no  longer  mystifies; 
The  cities  seem  no  part  of  God's  design 
In  makeup  of  creation,  surely  are 
They  plants  exotic,  breathing  something  good 
And  much  of  ill.     It  fact,  they  seem 
As  moral  cancers  in  the  stomach  of 
The  world,  that  putrefy,  unless  infused 
Continually  with  rural  blood  that  flows 
As  limpid  streams  to  purify  the  mass 
Intoxicated  with  excess,  is  life. 
Perhaps  I  overdraw  the  picture  here, 
And  set  comparison  to  grinning  in 
His  sleeve,  like  some  rude  boy  that  dresses  up 
A  doll  ungainly  for  the  sport  of  it. 

"  '  But  be  that  as  it  may,  I  now  will  cast 
Objection  to  the  wind  and  bow,  in  truth, 
Submission  to  your  wish.     It  may  be  that 
The  children  will  forget  the  little  waif 
That  came  among  them  years  ago.     I  have 
No  right  to  claim  their  loves,  as  what  I've  done 
Has  been  conceived  a  duty  to  myself 
For  ail  the  care  and  tenderness  received. 
But  still  I  go  as  goes  the  lamb  torn  from 
Its  mother's  side  with  bleat  and  bleeding  heart, 
That  balm  of  time  can  never  fully  heal, 
Nor  memory  allow  forgetfulness. 

"  i  It  seems  to  me  that  God  is  nearer  here 
Than  any  place  in  all  the  land.     The  pines 
That  worship  on  the  hills;  the  sylvan  nook, 
The  blooming  glen,  the  silver  stream,  are  all 


98  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

A  part  of  me  as  I  in  nature  am 

A  part  of  God,  and  revel  in  the  thought 

That  all  eternity  will  never  mar 

Or  dim  this  sweet  relationship. 

Deep  in  this  wonderland,  my  days  have  passed, 

And  are  remembered  as  a  lullaby 

When  cradled  by  my  loving  mother's  hand; 

Or  as  the  song  of  that  sweet  nightingale 

That  echoed  music  through  the  blooming  wood 

The  night  before  we  left  sweet  Mitylene. 

Full  conscious  am  I  that  I  wane  your  time 

On  things  of  small  account  compared  to  words 

And  counsels  wise  you  are  disposed  to  give. 

"  i  But  ere  my  star  of  hope  goes  down  and  leaves 
Me  utter  darkness,  hear  my  last  appeal — 
It  is  of  thoughts  oft  welling  to  my  lips 
In  happy  days  forever  passed  away — 
Of  your  infinitude  of  compliments 
And  gentleness  of  mind  that  fell  upon 
My  heart  like  sunshine  on  a  tiny  plant, 
That  it  might  grow  among  the  larger  fold. 
So  let  me  say — For  all  this  warmth  and  light 
Thus  caused  by  you  to  fall  upon  my  soul, 
Like  heavenly  incense  from  an  holy  urn, 
I  never  can  repay.     Here  is  my  hand 
And  in  it  all  my  heart.     These  all  I  have — 
I  never  loved  before,  I  never  can  again.7 

"  At  this  she  sank,  subdued,  upon  her  knees 
Before  me,  trembling  like  an  aspen  leaf, 
While,  with  her  hands  before  her  face,  the  tears 
Ran  through  her  fingers  like  great  pearl  drops, 
Streaming  from  a  golden  horn  of  gems. 
What  could  I  do?     What  could  I  say?     It  seemed 
I  had  no  choice  of  approach,  or  wish, 


THE   HERMIT  S    HOME. 

Or  hope  of  rescue  from  the  summer  dream 
Of  beauty  kneeling  there.     So  as  a  child, 
I  took  her  to  my  arms  and  folding  there 
In  rapture  to  my  heart,  while  kisses  fell 
In  showers  fresh  and  sweet  as  honey  dew. 


CANTO  XVIII. 

"  Fair  days  and  weeks  ran  into  nimble  month, 
As  in  sweet  havens  of  Hesperides 
Where  happiness  does  sit  in  laps  of  ease, 
And  all  the  golden  fruits  of  ripened  time 
Hang  ready  for  a  desert  luxury 
Of  soul  and  sense  and  appetites  of  love's 
Warm  breath  and  dalliance,  unshadowed  by 
A  cloud  above  the  future's  horizon. 

"  The  time  was  set  when  we  should  be  as  one, 
And  all  the  vale  appear  as  witnesses. 
The  day  was  that  fair  anniversary 
Of  Him  who  came  to  bless  and  save  the  world; 
The  little  church,  all  decked  in  evergreens, 
Late  rose  and  lily  bloom,  did  seem  to  smile 
On  everyone  who  entered  there,  as  when 
A  floral  arch  bends  in  its  welcome  down 
And  greets  the  passing  throng,  delighted  with 
The  scenery  and  graceful  art  displayed. 
The  tolling  bell  called  all  to  worship  there, 
As  did  the  star  above  sweet  Bethlehem 
So  many  rounding  centuries  ago. 

"  With  invocation  to  Divinity, 
And  songs  of  praise  that  lift  humanity 
Above  the  weary  run  of  daily  life — 
Amid  the  smiles  of  all  the  multitude 
The  service  was  performed,  and  solemnly, 
That  made  Nenona  and  myself,  two  souls, 
In  one,  as  with  a  band  of  gossamer, 
Frail  as  a  spider's  woof,  yet  strong  as  bands 
Of  gold  when  love  is  linked  with  common  sense, 

too 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  101 

And  purity  stands  by  with  balanced  scale. 

"  Another  room  was  deftly  added  to 
The  cottage  on  the  sunny  slope,  in  which 
The  neighbors  joined  as  do  school  boys,  when  much 
Elated,  build  a  habitation  for 
Some  fairy  queen  that  comes  among  them  for 
A  summer's  stay,  with  cheer  and  gleeful  song. 
Old  Sanger  seemed  to  know  some  enterprise 
Was  on  the  taps,  uncommon  to  the  place, 
And  pranced  about  surprised,  yet  gave  assent 
In  neiker  and  in  snort  subdued. 
While  Rover  wondered  at  the  active  hands 
Engaged  and  watched  each  timber  laid,  as  one 
Not  quite  persuaded  good  would  come  of  it. 

"  When  stood  the  cottage,  quite  complete  in  all 
Appointments  consonant  with  plan,  I  felt 
The  house  too  big  for  my  sparse  furniture. 
So,  hitched  to  wagon,  boarded  up,  two  span 
Of  dapple  grays  and  sped  away  across 
The  hills,  the  journey  of  a  day,  to  port 
That  sat  on  little  inlet  by  the  sea, 
And  bought  a  line  of  modest  household  goods, 
Fair  crockery  and  tinnery  renewed. 
A  clock  of  dainty  form,  on  either  side 
A  maiden  stood  in  Scottish  dress,  that  held 
Aloft  its  pointing  hands  and  snow-white  face 
With  dentures  black,  which  marked  suggestively 
The  hours  passing  on  the  wings  of  time, 
Unchecked  by  storm,  or  sun,  or  mortal  wish 
To  undo  that  which  is  already  done. 
When  glossy  furniture  was  all  in  place, 
Fair  crockery  and  glass  in  cupboard  sat, 
And  kitchen  ware  in  shining  rows  replaced 
The  rusty  tins  of  uncouth  batchelerdom, 


102  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

And  warning  clock  upon  the  mantel  stood. 

"A  great  reception  was  extended  to 
The  loving  people  of  the  little  vale, 
Without  a  slight  or  stinting  preference. 
Perhaps  there  may  have  been  such  holidays 
Before,  perhaps  there  may  be  such  again, 
But  anyway,  the  people  did  declare 
That  surely  in  the  world  there  never  was 
Occasion  half  so  joyful  and  filled 
To  brim  the  sweetest  of  amenities. 
Thus  started  we,  Nenona  and  myself, 
With  sunny  maid  as  cheer  and  kitchen  help, 
To  keeping  house,  untrammeled  by  a  care, 
Save  that  which  ever  moved  the  mind  of  each 
To  make  the  other  always  satisfied. 

"  Fair  castles  line  the  banks  of  sunny  streams 
And  mountain  steeps  with  moat  and  parapet; 
And  shining  turrets,  crowned  with  terreplein, 
While  all  about  are  gardens  rich  in  prime, 
Exotic  plants,  all  spiced  by  tropic  suns — 
Yet,  who  can  say,  in  truth,  they  do  contain 
A  happiness  of  sweeter  growth  than  cots 
Reared  in  the  woods,  or  on  the  treeless  plain 
And  thatched  with  strips  of  bark  or  barley  straw. 

"  About  my  little  home,  with  tender  care 
There  grew  a  labyrinth  of  flowers,  fair 
As  those  that  deck  the  throne  of  Flora,  when 
In  league  with  May,  its  queen  does  shower  down 
With  lavish  hand  rich  gems  plucked  from  the  crown 
Of  Dryadese,  who  roams  the  pleasant  wood, 
And  plucks  at  will  her  dainty  doweries. 

"  Old  Sanger,  little  worked  because  of  long 
And  faithful  service,  ran  at  large  and  free 
As  ran  the  water  from  the  sloping  hills; 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  103 

And  when  I  harnessed  younger  stock  to  turn 

The  shining  furrows  in  the  field,  this  pet, 

Spoiled  by  his  own  exuberance  of  worth, 

Would  watch  my  work  and  when  the  team  stood  still 

Beneath  some  spreading  tree  to  blow  and  rest, 

As  if  inspector-general  of  the  vale, 

Came  prancing  up  and  with  an  expert  eye 

Tramped  round  and  round  my  nags,  as  if  to  see 

That  every  strap  and  tug  and  rein  was  taut 

And  best  adjusted  to  the  work  in  hand. 

"  While  Rover,  weaned  from  all  his  youthful  ways 
By  steady  training  hand  of  time,  would  go 
Along  demurely,  little  heeding  rat 
Or  squirrel,  frightened,  running  from  the  team; 
But  when  afield  would  curl  up  in  the  shade 
To  dream,  perhaps,  in  retrospect  of  all 
The  years  gone  by,  when  active  in  the  chase, 
Or  iron  stand  he  ever  took  on  guard, 
Or  when  a  danger  seemed  to  hover  near. 
Thus  passed  the  days  and  weeks  and  months, 
In  toil  sufficient  for  our  utmost  need. 

"  Yet  leaving  leisure  ample  for  sweet  rest 
At  home,  with  her,  than  whom  there  never  lived 
A  soul  more  heavenly  in  all  the  land. 
If  paradise  hath  welcome  sweeter  than 
My  own,  and  man  in  any  way  could  half 
Discover  it,  a  song  of  praise  would  be 
On  every  lip;  distempered  ills  of  life 
Would  disappear  as  did  old  Tiamat, 
The  hag  of  woes  unnumbered — outward  hurled 
By  potent  Marduke,  shrieking  from  the  world. 

"  Two  years  passed  thus  in  ease  and  happiness, 
As  does  the  time  roll  by  in  wonderland — 
With  all  we  love  in  gardens  of  the  Gods, 


104  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

Perfumed  by  incense  from  the  floral  world. 

And  then  there  came  a  change  that  checked  the  flow 

Of  earthly  bliss,  as  when  Feronia  checks 

The  flowing  streams, — then  parch  and  wither  up 

The  growth  and  glory  of  the  nurtured  plain. 

"  A  sickness  came  upon  Nenona,  not 
Uncommon  to  her  sex,  that  taxed  severe 
The  best  of  skill  that  sought  to  bring  relief. 
But  all  in  vain,  she  faded  as  a  rose 
Just  bursting  into  summer  bloom  on  which 
Untimely  frost  had  set  its  seal  of  death. 

"  The  people  of  the  vale  seemed  stupefied 
By  this  calamity,  deep  sorrow  sat 
On  every  face;  brave  men  moved  to  and  fro 
Like  shadows  through  the  fields,  in  search,  it  seemed, 
Of  something,  knowing  hardly  what,  that  might 
Relieve  the  strain  of  nerve  and  troubled  mind; 
The  women  flocked  about  the  house  and  grounds 
Like  doves  that  coo  around  their  stricken  mates, 
Uncomforted  by  Clotho  in  their  grief. 
The  day  of  her  sad  funeral  did  seem 
The  darkest  ever  known,  altho  the  sun 
Stood  shadowless  high  in  the  arch  above. 

"Just  yonder  on  that  sunny  slope  we  laid 
Her  lovely  form,  in  life  a  shining  star 
That  had  no  orbit  through  the  cold,  blue  sky, 
But  in  its  daily  round  shed  ample  light 
For  sweetest  leadership  in  all  good  works. 
The  little  babe  is  with  her  there  in  peace, 
And  all  the  consolation  left  us  is, — 
The  balm  of  memory  that  ever  clings 
To  loved  ones  lost,  with  hope  of  union  where 
The  skies  are  clear  and  peace  forever  there, 
For  all  who  love  and  dare  to  do  the  right. 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  105 

"  How  little  seems  the  worth  of  life  when  called 
To  bear  calamity  like  this,  and  naught 
But  fortitude  and  trust  in  God  can  stand 
Against  the  growth  of  lunacy,  that  drags 
The  mind  to  gloomy  bogs  and  bottomless, 
Unguided  by  a  single  shining  star? 
I  lived  no  longer  as  myself,  for  three 
We  were,  yet  two  were  in  the  silent  grave. 

"  My  interest  in  the  work  about  the  farm 
Did  cease;  and  from  the  day  we  buried  her 
The  neighbors  nurtured  it,  and  gave  as  rent 
Whatever  suited  them.     'Tis  wonderful 
How  little  mortals  need  upon  the  earth! 
I  had  no  wish  for  company;  reserve 
Came  over  all  my  life  and  grief  did  sit 
Consoler  as  the  seasons  slowly  passed. 

"  When  two  full  years  had  fled  without  relief, 
I  cleared  the  rubbish  and  the  rubble  stones 
From  this  surprising  cavern — built  by  some 
Eruption  in  the  early  ages  of 
The  world,  before  old  Thurmes  cooled  the  earth — 
Then  bringing  here  belongings  such  as  made 
It  comfortable,  moving  in  the  place 
With  Rover  following.     And  thus  I've  lived 
For  thirty  years,  supplied  with  simple  needs 
Gleaned  from  the  farm  and  garden  there  below 
The  grave,  where,  as  you  see,  a  crystal  stream 
Runs  near,  which  is  at  times  diverted  to 
The  plot  and  used  for  watering  the  plants 
And  posies,  hedged  about  with  spicy  shrubs. 
Where  in  their  tilling  does  allow  escape 
From  gloomy  solitude,  that  patient  waits 
Along  the  strand,  with  hope  to  quench  in  flow 
Of  Lethe  remains  of  human  memories. 


106  POEMS   OF    LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

"  For  many  years  I  made  an  annual 
Pilgrimage  down  to  the  golden  sands 
That  line  the  ocean  shore,  and  once  did  build 
A  little  hamlet  where  Nenona  lay 
When  rescued  lifeless  from  the  cruel  sea. 
But  as  all  earthly  work  of  human  hands 
Is  evanescent  as  the  falling  leaves — 
The  first  full  moon  that  pulled  to  eastward  with 
The  sun  did  flood  the  mighty  stretch  of  shore, 
And  washed  away  my  ruined  tenement, 
As  lesson  that  the  props  of  life  cannot 
Support  for  length  of  days  the  things  we  love. 

"  Poor  {Rover  ultimately  grew  so  old, 
That  like  some  sage  philosopher,  with  head 
Upon  his  paws,  would_dream  away  the  time 
And  little  caring  for  a  thing  beside 
A  crust.     At  last  the  flickering  lamp  went  out. 
And  now,  perhaps,  with  life  renewed,  he  has, 
With  others,  reached  the  happy  hunting  ground. 
Who  knows?     Who  can  deny  that  mind  of  man 
And  beast  is  not,  in  fact,  an  essence  from 
A  common  source,  and  measured  out  to  meet 
The  need  of  everything  that  lives,  and  soul, 
But  conscious  memory  of  what  has  been? 

u  Since  then  I  hardly  go  below  the  plot 
Of  garden  truck,  but  never  have  I  in 
Those  thirty,  weary  years,  a  single  day 
Delayed  a  visit  to  Nenona's  grave 
And  carried  flowers  there,  the  freshest  that 
The  season  could  afford,  and  there  behold! 
The  pathway  beaten  bare  by  weary  feet, 
Unrestful  only  on  the  lonely  tramp. 

"  The  time  approaches  for  my  final  call. 
More  I  am  than  satisfied  with  length 


THE  HERMIT'S  HOME.  107 

Of  years,  yet  hope  I  that  they  have  not  been 
In  vain.     As  nature  softens  down  the  hard 
Cold  stones,  with  Time's  erosive  hand,  so  have 
I  sought  each  day  to  wear  away  some  ill 
Of  soul  remaining  in  my  life,  and  make 
A  flower  grow  where  aspen  grew  before. 

"  I  know  myself  and  know  what  nature  has 
In  store  for  me.     That  dust  to  dust  shall  this 
Poor  frame  return,  and  what  there  is  in  it 
Of  spirit  shall  return  to  sources  whence 
It  came.     If  life  exists  beyond  the  grave 
Wherein  a  soul  can  recognize  itself, 
I  know  that  memory  of  evil  deeds 
Is  conscious  hell,  and  highest  heaven  only 
Conscious  duty  well  performed, 
And  that  all  faith  is  measured  by  its  works, 
And  Isms  stand  before  the  Judgment  seat 
Confronted  by  the  inquiry,  '  What  bring 
You  here  in  purity  of  soul,  what  mite 
Of  worth  for  human  good,  and  measure  give 
Above  the  measure  meted  out  to  you?' 
If  death  is  an  eternal  sleep  it  is 
God's  will,  and  I  will  not  presume  to  will 
It  otherwise;  '  To  be  or  not  to  be,' 
It  matters  not  so  far  as  duty  goes. 

"  The  fairest  soul  in  this  abode  of  death 
And  in  another  life,  if  such  there  be, 
Is,  that  which  doeth  all  things  well,  with  faith 
In  God  that  justice  shall  prevail. 
This  is  the  story  of  my  troubled  past, 
Perhaps  a  fair  example  of  the  life 
Of  average  men  who  live  in  every  land. 
It  seemed  your  wish  that  I  should  say  as  much, 
And  only  hope  that  you  are  paid  for  time 


108  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Expended  thus.     Perhaps  the  lesson  may 
Assist  you  in  the  years  to  come;  we  all 
Need  counsel  as  we  limping  go  along 
The  thorny  road,  encouraged  by  the  hope 
That  he  who  suffers  most  for  righteousness 
Will  ultimately  reach  the  shining  mark, 
Set  high  above  all  sordid  things,  where  ends 
The  constant  wear  of  earthly  pilgrimage. 

u  Farewell,  the  night  stands  near  meridian, 
The  half-full  moon  has  set,  the  tide  is  ebb; 
And  nature  sleeps;  may  peace  be  with  us  all." 

At  this  the  Hermit  closed  his  eyes,  his  lips 
Were  still  and  silence  reigned  in  that  abode. 
Death  was  the  welcome  messenger  that  stood 
Between  two  worlds  and  called  the  weary  soul, 
As  does  a  loving  mother  whisper  to 
Her  babe  and  sings  an  evening  lullaby. 
Most  tenderly  the  people  of  the  vale, 
With  many  floral  offerings,  did  lay 
To  rest  the  aged  hermit  by  the  side 
Of  his  fair  wife  to  sleep  in  silence  there 
While  move  the  ages  to  the  end  of  time. 


Whence  art  thou,  spirit  of  the  Evil  Wind  ? 
And  thy  twin  sister  of  the  Eibbon  Fall? 
From  womb  of  deepest  chaos  comest  thou? 
Or  did  some  late  convulsion  give  thee  birth  ? 
We  will  assume,  that  Vishnu  wooed  the  u  white 
Robed  Goddess  of  the  hills/'  and  in  his  warmth 
Of  love,  does  melt  her  frozen  heart,  and  tears 
Of  bliss  her  eyes  sufliise,  while  Venus  weaves 
Therefrom  "  a  Bridal  Veil  "  of  diamond  mist 
And  rainbow  tints,  so  curved  and  charming  that 
The  sun  delights  to  linger  on  them,  ere 
"  Cathedral  Rock  "  its  vesper  bells  engage. 

These  things  to  us  reveal  their  mystery; 

But  whence  the  overhanging  crags  that  hold 

Aloft  in  dim  outline,  the  crowning  arch 

Of  heaven's  azure,  starlit  canopy, 

And  frown  like  giant  gods  upon  the  deep 

Recesses  of  the  wooded  vale  beneath  ? 

Fair  white-robed  hills,  for  later  Autumn  clothed- 

With  green  and  gold  of  pine  and  cedar,  for 

A  crown  of  waving  plumage;  will  you  please 

A  moment  to  forget  your  solemn  grandeur, 

And  let  your  stony  hearts,  with  human  hopes 

Bear  sympathy, — and  thus  allow  frail  man 

To  learn  a  lesson  of  Divinity? 

109 


110  POEMS    OF    LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

If  answer  hast  thou  not  for  me,  consult 

Thy  lordly  brother,  proud  "  Yosemite ;  " 

If  knowledge  yet  abideth  not  with  him, 

Pray  will  you  counsel  "  Rushing  Water?  " 

And  from  "'the  Diamond  Cataract,'7  I'll  weave 

For  you  a  jeweled  crown  of  shining  pearls! 

All  dumb  and  silent;  not  a  single  sound 

To  solve  this  mystery  of  all  the  ages? 

Then  speak  to  me,  bright  "Goddess  of  theVale  !  " 

Whence  comes  your  crowning  height?  and  thy  grim  mate, 

The  ball-domed  sphinx,  like  "  Martyr  Mountain  ?  " 

I  do  beseech  a  whisper  from  you  now; 

You  are  not  dead;  God's  life  is  in  you,  as 

It  is  in  man;  we  breathe  to  gather  from 

The  same  eternal  source  of  soul  and  mind  ! 

And  what  in  Him  is  not,  is  not  in  us; 

And  what  is  not  in  us,  does  not  exist ! 

All  silent  as  the  grave  of  ages,  gone 
Around  the  cycles  of  eternity  ! 
Divest  yourself  of  all  this  irony, 
"  Great  Valley  Chief,"  but  second  in  command, 
And  learn  me  something  of  the  things  that  were, 
And  teach  me  best  how  I  can  worship  God ! 
Is  there  no  hope  to  gain  a  clew  that  may 
Reveal  the  mandate,  bringing  forth  so  much 
Of  wonder  'midst  these  torn  and  shaggy  hills  ? 
You  are  my  elder  brother,  which  I  love; 
Then  give  me  half  your  heart  a  moment,  so 
That  I  may  feel  the  common  pulse  of  nature, 
Beating  through  us  ail,  as  one  in  Him 
Who  doeth  all  things  well,  and  I'm  content, 
And  will  refrain  to  further  question  you . 
'Tis  vain!     One  effort  more  and  I  am  done! 


YOSEMITE.  Ill 

At  last,  to  thee  I  come,  with  invocation, 

"  O  mighty  Cloud  Rest!"     Tell  me,  if  in  truth, 

Thou  comest  from  the  magic  womb  of  time, 

Forever  hidden  from  the  finite  gaze? 

Did  God  decree  this  wonderland  for  thee — 

Or  was  it  Fate  that  did  ordain  it  so? 

Long  silence  stood  oppressed  at  coming  change; 
The  somber  mist  turned  pale  with  amber  light; 
As  daybreak  falls  upon  the  crown  of  night; 
Then  rosy  tinges  of  the  coming  sun, 
Revealed  the  glory  of  that  Awful  One. 

A  tremor  ran  through  all  the  crags  and  hills 
As  when  in  fright  one  feels  his  body  quake, 
And  clutches  object  nearest  for  support. 
The  Vernal  Falls  turned  green  with  envy  at 
The  sight  of  that  supreme  uplifting — 
Hooded  round  about  with  drifting  snow; 
While  "  Old  Nevada  "  splintered  up  in  mist 
Her  shining  robes,  to  make  a  regal  crown, 
Dove-tailed  about  with  bits  of  rainbow, 
That  some  attention  might  remain  to  her. 
Grand  was  the  view  the  upland  gods  beheld  ! 
Deep  to  the  westward,  winding  in  and  out 
Among  the  shrubs  and  trees  and  crowning  crags, 
The  silver  river,  sunlit,  sheen-like,  seemed 
A  belt  about  the  waist  of  fairyland, 
That  girdled  more  of  beauty,  grandeur  and 
Divine,  than  all  enfoldings  of  the  sweetest  forms 
That  lavish  nature  has  vouchsafed  to  man. 

In  silence,  Expectation  sat  dumbfounded; 
Sere,  intent  and  still,  the  hoary  heads 


112  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

That  guard  have  kept  for  many  ages  past, 

In  all  this  waste  of  crowning  solitudes, 

Frowned  down  upon  "  the  Brother  Twins/'  who  stood 

Upright  and  tip-toed  for  a  better  view. 

Surrounded  by  his  subjects,  dressed  in  white, 

On  high  Sierra's  pure  and  burnished  throne, 

With  face  to  westward,  scanning  many  leagues 

Of  intervening  woodland,  hill  and  dale, 

Did  great  "Mount  Whitney,'7  blank  with  wonder,  gaze. 

And  in  this  hush  of  sound  and  waiting  time, 

Where  seemed  to  hang  an  age  of  doubt  and  fear — 

In  every  breath,  great  "Cloud  Rest"  murmured  thus: 

"  For  long,  revolving  ages,  I,  in  silence 

Held  great  Nature's  secret,  and  designed 

To  hold  it  to  the  end.     The  magic  key 

Which  chance  hath  given  thee,  unlocks  my  lips; 

And  now  beneath  the  garb  of  theory, 

Of  which  the  book-fools  prate  so  learnedly, 

I  will  relate  some  antecedents. 

u  God  rules!  and  next  to  Him  in  grandeur  stands 

These  adamantine  walls,  o'er  which  have  I 

So  long  and  faithfully  presided. 

Deep  in  the  distance  of  the  mighty  past, 

There  was  a  time  when  this  stupendous  gorge 

Was  not.     The  rough-hewn  hills  which  sat  around 

Like  loyal  subjects,  waiting  my  command, 

And  all  those  higher,  barren  granite  peaks — 

Once  held  as  giant  pillars  of  the  State, — 

Knew  no  severance.     Peacefully  we  dwelt 

Together,  massive,  sere  and  winter  crowned. 

But  potent  forces,  silent  grew  beneath. 

The  cooling  earth  did  slowly  crust  about 


YOSEMITE.  113 

The  inner  cauldron  of  the  boiling  flood; 
And  as  the  swaying  igneous  grew  less, 
An  intervening  space  was  formed,  in  which 
A  smoldering  hell-force  grew  prodigious. 

"  The  earth  did  swing,  as  does  a  whirling  top, 
And  reel  beneath,  then  came  the  mighty  crash! 
God's  great  foundation  stones  were  rent  in  twain. 
The  hills  were  broken  up  and  chopped  about 
Like  rolling  billows  on  a  troubled  sea. 
Destruction  stood  aghast  and  wondered  at 
Her  awful  work.     The  wealth  of  pent-up  pearls 
Did  rush  with  reckless  fury  round  the  gorge, 
And  each  division,  severed  from  the  rest, 
Did  seek  to  find  escape.     From  point  to  point, 
With  murmur  and  complaint,  the  waters  surged, 
Until  the  verge  of  some  high  cliff  was  reached, 
And  then,  like  tramping  soldiers,  coming  on 
Behind  the  lead,  at  pace  too  swift  for  check, 
They  leaped  together  down  the  yawning  gulf ! 
And  thus  the  push  of  foremost  from  behind, 
Goes  on  and  on  forever. 

"  Down  in  the  mist  of  time 
This  wonder  place  did  not  exist  as  now — 
Some  clefts  of  granite  rock  and  running  rills — 
And  trees  with  intervening  vales  between — 
But  down  and  down  a  narrow  gorge  of  death 
These  perpendicular  walls  did  stretch  below, 
Till  smoke  and  fire  and  fumes  of  gloomy  hell 
Did  seethe  and  boil  at  touch  of  rushing  streams, 
That  sought  to  cool  the  crater  as  they  fell. 
Instead,  as  now,  of  counting  flights  by  scores, 
These  falls  then  leaped  as  many  thousand  feet, 


114  POEMS   OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

Curved  and  lashed  to  fury  as  they  went. 
Cycling  ages  since  have  passed  away; 
Decay  has  scored  her  many  victories; 
Rock  by  rock,  the  yawning  gulf  was  filled 
From  height  of  mountain  spur  and  crater  cap, 
With  silt  and  drift  from  sloping  eastern  hills, 
Washed  in  from  drifting  snow  and  winter  floods, 
Did  make  this  valley  what  it  is,  and  set 
Apart  by  Time's  decree,  these  rugged  cliffs. 

"  If  doubt  of  this  great  truth  possess  thee,  dig 

Into  the  bowels  of  the  center  vale, 

A  thousand  fathoms  deep,  and  there  you'll  find 

The  crumbling  edges  of  the  hidden  walls, 

And  round  about,  slim-based,  projecting  crags; 

And  in  between,  dark  caverns,  grim  and  old, 

Filled  in  with  rubbish  of  ten  thousand  years. 

God  reigns!     Decay  does  hang  in  every  wind, 

And  ere  another  cycle  passes  out, 

These  crowning  heights  of  flint  and  adamant, 

Shall  surely  crumble,  into  level  plain, 

Or  into  rolling  slopes,  so  gentle,  that 

The  plowman's  pride  will  be  to  smoothly  turn 

The  yielding  soil,  with  sturdy  team  and  share; 

To  plant  his  crops  and  garner  yellow  grain. 

Aye,  all  these  feathery  cataracts  shall  fail, 

And  disappear  before  the  march  of  time, 

As  have  God's  children  of  these  rugged  hills — 

Destiny  ruled,  ruined  and  forgotten! 

11  If  wish  is  thine  to  reach  the  soul  of  nature, 
Claim  thou  kinship  with  the  shining  worlds 
And  learn  a  lesson  which  each  sun  and  star 
And  satellite,  has  mastered  long  ago: 


YOSEMITE.  115 

That  innate  force,  by  God's  decree,  does  move 

In  harmony  the  mighty  universe, 

With  every  shining  system  leaning  on 

The  others  for  support  and  sympathy. 

So  man  should  feel,  in  spirit  and  in  truth, 

A  part  of  all  that  is,  and  realize 

That  purity  of  life  with  love  and  aid 

For  every  living  soul,  is  all  there  is 

Of  worth  in  all  religions  in  the  world. 

So  all  are  ever  equal  in  the  scale 

Of  God's  ordaining,  as  the  water  drops 

That  fill  the  vortex  of  the  mighty  sea. 

4 'Man,  alone,  of  all  his  Maker's  works, 
Has  failed  in  his  appointing.     Mind  he  has, 
And  well  designed,  but  warped  to  selfish  ends, 
That  make  him  strut  about,  as  if  he  had 
No  other  aim  upon  the  earth,  but  clutch 
With  robber  hands,  each  pearl  and  seeming  prize 
In  sight,  regardless  of  his  brother's  rights; 
And  helpless  Want  goes  crying  from  his  door, 
As  if  the  fullness  of  the  earth  was  not 
Designed  by  God  for  every  human  need! 

"  There  seems  no  hope  to  suage  this  thirst  for  gain 
And  love  of  pomp  and  tinsel  show  in  man, 
Divinely  formed,  and  yet  a  vapid  fool 
In  all  things  great  or  wise,  for  human  good. 
For  glut  of  wealth  he'll  hazard  sense  and  soul, 
And  friendship  spurn,  as  if  it  grew  on  trees, 
Instead  of  precious  jewel,  richer  than 
A  shining  gem,  or  flower  sweeter  than 
Sirisha  bloom  on  brow  of  Sakoontala. 


116         POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

"  We  grieve  that  it  is  so,  and  warn  you  that 
The  past  reveals  the  future  of  the  race! 
Long,  cycling  ages  come  and  go,  into 
The  ocean  of  the  past,  while  nations  rise 
And  flourish  for  a  time  with  peace  and  love, 
Then  fall  like  giant  pines  upon  the  hills. 
And  others  grow  from  ashes  of  decay! 

"  If  thou,  in  conflict  with  the  greedy  world, 
Yet  have  a  heart  and  soul  for  better  things; 
Then  seek  to  know  that  God  forever  reigns; 
In  truth,  to  know  Him,  is  to  know  thyself; 
To  know  thyself,  is  knowledge  of  the  laws 
That  permeate  the  circling  universe; 
Without  which,  chaos  would  control,  as  does 
The  wind,  the  dust,  or  wafting  heather  down. 

"  I  leave  you  now,  this  is  the  last  recall; 

But  ere  my  voice  is  hushed  in  solitude, 

Some  counsel  will  I,  and  a  warning  give, 

Which,  well  observed,  with  faith,  will  safely  guide 

You  in  the  golden  pathway  up  to  God! 

The  major  hates  of  all  the  world  are  based 

Upon  the  Isms,  bred  for  selfish  ends. 

Your  Maker  hath  no  need  of  advocates 

To  talk  much  doggerel  on  sacred  things 

They  know  not  of  and  try  to  prove  a  lie 

By  conjured  text  of  horrid  infamy, 

And  call  it  Brahma,  or  some  Molock  work. 

"  The  only  blind  are  those  who  will  not  see. 
God  is  the  living  soul  of  everything 
In  universal  harmony  with  Him; 
And  every  sin  is  violated  law. 


YOSEMITE.  117 


Praise  is  only  truth  personified; 
Eeligion  is  the  love  of  things  that  are; 
Peace  with  God  is  duty  well  performed; 
Heaven  is  but  mind  of  purity; 
And  hell  is  conscience  crucified  upon 
The  altar  of  remorse.77 


Ville  de  Saint 


[This  good  ship,  ''French,  by  manning  and  in  name,  "  left 
New  York  on  Friday,  March  4,  1897,  bound  for  Port  au  Prince, 
Hayti  or  Hispanolia.  Two  days  out,  she  encountered  a  fearful 
storm  off  Cape  Hatteras,  in  which  the  vessel  foundered.  Of  the 
eighty-two  passengers  and  crew,  only  four  are  known  to  have 
escaped  with  their  lives.] 

'Twas  on  an  evil-omened  morning  in 

That  month  of  all  the  year,  which  dresses  for 

A  summer's  day  and  yet  so  fickle  that 

Before  an  hour  passes  she  has  changed 

Her  mood  and  dons  a  robe  of  doubtful  hue, 

With  flounces  frilled  and  fulled  for  winter's  wear, 

That  Ville  de  Saint  Nazaire  —  by  manning  French, 

And  make,  staunch  in  timber,  mast  and  sail  — 

Did  leave  the  Hudson,  weird  and  shadowed  by 

Old  Gotham,  bound  for  port  in  Hispanolia, 

Which  Columbus  thought  the  Ophir,  whence 

Fine  gold  and  pearls  did  flow  like  shining  stream 

Into  the  coffers  of  that  Hebrew  king, 

Who  had  no  equal  in  the  ages  passed  — 

Where  the  Vega  Real,  watered  by 

The  Yuma,  sweet  lamos  and  the  plain 

Of  Cayes  to  the  westward,  green  and  fertile, 

Fair  beyond  Arcadian  dream; 

And  as  an  outlook,  crowning  all  the  land, 

With  head  above  the  morning  mist,  stands  old 

Cibo,  clothed  with  whispering  pines  and  palms 

And  roble  oak,  and  where  the  richest  fruits 

And  fairest  flowers  grow  in  beauty  so 

Profusely  that,  with  loss  of  Eden,  Eve 

Would  have  lived,  supreme  and  happy  there. 

118 


V1LLE    DE   SAINT    NAZAIRE.  119 

Thus  bound  and  manned  and  moved  by  steam  and  sail 

And  wind,  the  vessel  glided  onward,  while 

The  galley  crew  and  passengers,  with  cheer 

And  sport  and  pun,  and  all  the  little  ones 

Went  romping  round  the  deck  with  hide  and  seek, 

Passed  pleasantly  the  breezy,  fleeting  hours. 

Two  days  moved  out  upon  the  flood  of  time, 

While  Joy  in  flowing  robes,  sat  queen  of  hearts! 

And  then  there  came  a  change.     The  ship  had  reached 

That   storm    bound   headland,  where   the   gulf  stream 

flows 

And  vibrates  like  a  monster  of  the  deep, 
With  bulk  of  form  so  huge  and  breath  so  hot, 
That  currents  from  the  shore-line  rush  to  fill 
The  vortex  made  in  air  and  sea  by  this 
Old  Leviathan,  ceaseless  onward  moving, 
When  commotion  holds  communion  with 
The  damned  and  all  things  human,  helpless, 
Drifting,  flounders  in  the  raging  flood. 

Oh,  who  has  ever  seen  a  storm  at  sea? 

God  moves  the  troubled  waters  there  alone — 

No  fetish,  old  triumvirate;  but  One 

Eternal  as  the  everlasting  hills. 

Fair  isles  and  woodland  dells  and  mountain  crags, 

Beget  in  simple  minds  a  host  of  gods: 

But  God  is  God  forever  on  the  deep! 

Amid  the  warring  elements  of  wind 

And  wave,  that  fight  their  battles  o'er  and  o'er, 

For  such  dominion  as  the  gods  abhor, 

And  pile  up  wreckage  on  the  dreary  coast, 

Where  ships  go  down  and  precious  lives  are  lost, 

Did  Sunday  morning,  sere  and  bleak  and  cold, 

With  haggard  look  and  blood- spots  on  the  sun, 


120  POEMS    OF   LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Find  the  gallant  vessel  speeding  onward. 
The  murky  sky  grew  dark,  the  ocean  breathed 
With  ominous  omen;  and  anxious  Care 
Sat  silent  on  the  Captain's  swarthy  face; 
Sailors  ordered,  moved  as  though  they  knew 
The  danger  lurking  in  the  heaving  sea; 
While  others  stood  like  pillars  at  their  post. 

Squall  on  squall,  came  howling  by,  as  if 

To  say,  "  Hell  holds  dominion  further  down!" 

Every  sail  was  furled;  the  masts  and  spars 

Appeared  as  remnants  left,  all  sere  and  bleak — 

Of  some  old  forest,  tangled  in  the  rage 

Of  tempest  roar  or  western  cyclone. 

And  when  the  weary  day  had  passed  and  night 

Set  in,  the  bravest  heart  on  board  grew  faint 

With  fear,  for  every  heaving  billow  floods 

The  ship;  great  shoals  of  foam  and  surf  poured  down 

The  hatchways;  engines  ceased  to  move;  the  wheels 

Stood  still;  fires  quenched;  the  vessel  logged 

With  bilge,  and  rushing  water  from  the  deck. 

The  bowsprit  with  the  bridal  ropes  about 

Its  mouth  did  cower  like  a  charger  in 

Some  mortal  combat;  groaning  like  a  thing 

Of  life;  the  vessel  rolled  from  side  to  side, 

As  if  death  wounded  by  some  fatal  dart 

Of  steel,  transfixed  within  its  heaving  heart. 

11  Low  twelve,"  rang  out  the  sturdy  night  watch, 

But  not  the  looked-for  word  that,  "All  is  well." 

And  many  felt  as  if  it  were  the  knell, 

Before  the  leap  into  eternity; 

So,  every  soul  on  board  now  sought  the  deck, 

For  hope  of  rescue  seemed  suspended  by 


VILLE    DE    SAINT    NAZAIRE.  121 

A  hair.     Not  one  betrayed  the  horror  in 

His  heart,  except  by  blanching  faces. 

Freezing  hands  clung  on  to  hilliard,  stays 

And  running  rigging-reft  and  lagging. 

Every  eye  was  on  the  Captain  as 

He  swayed  upon  the  bridge.     "  The  vessel's  lost; 

No  other  hope  is  left  us  but  the  boats. 

Let  go!"     Four  of  them  floundered  in  the  flood 

A  moment,  then  were  crushed  to  splinters  by 

The  ship.     A  lull,  and  then  the  other  four 

Were  lowered  safely  in  the  wreckage  lee, 

And  all  on  board  were  crowded  into  them. 

Captain  Berry  took  command  of  one, 

Containing  near  two  score  of  souls,  all  told, 

Including  one  poor,  weary  woman,  and 

Four  little  ones,  half-clad  and  weeping  sorely. 

The  signal  lights  were  carried  in  this  boat, 

And  all  the  others  ordered,  it  to  follow. 

But  wind  and  wave  too  mighty  for  the  men, 

Did  scatter  them  like  feathers  on  the  sea, 

To  meet  each  other  not  again  forever. 

Besides  the  drenching  spray  that  swashed  and  flew 

About  the  boat  like  white-robed  diamonds. 

The  night  was  cold  beyond  endurance; 

The  oarsmen  heaved  and  tugged  and  splashed  amid 

The  ridging  waters,  with  a  stroke  too  deep, 

And  then  a  skip,  with  home  thrusts  in  between; 

And  tiller  held  by  one  with  nerves  of  steel, 

And  thus  brave  hearts,  with  hands  half  frozen,  kept 

The  prow  to  windward — shoreward  leaning,  while 

The  others  bailed  the  boat  of  foam  and  bilge. 

And  so  the  weary  night  moved  slowly  on, 

As  if  she  lingered  in  delight  to  witness 


122  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Human  woe.     Soine,  dazed  and  frozen,  threw 

Themselves  into  the  sea,  to  rest  and  rock 

Forever  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 

There  is  no  name  for  such  a  death!     The  brave 

And  laggard  down  together  go,  thus  prone 

And  helpless  as  a  cedar  in  a  cyclone. 

Yet  all  this  horror  strong  men  can  endure 

And  whimper  not  at  fate's  decree,  but  to 

Behold  the  prattling  babe  and  little  forms 

Half-famished,  clad,  and  freezing,  clinging  to 

Their  dying  mother,  begging  for  a  crust, 

Or  comfort,  does  despair  the  bravest  heart, 

And  sets  the  soul  of  anguish  on  the  lips 

Of  him  who  hath  a  spark  of  sympathy. 

O  God!     The  weary,  watchful  hours  of 

That  gruesome  wreck,  tossed  on  the  flood,  with  hope 

Stagnating  in  the  heart  of  those  within 

The  little  skipper.     Day  by  day  the  crew 

Grew  less,  as  many  took  their  leave,  distressed 

Beyond  endurance.     Others  died  from  chill 

And  hunger,  with  the  mother  and  her  brood. 

With  health  and  home  upon  a  spot  of  God's 

Green  earth,  the  days  move  on  like  passing  dreams, 

Oft  fraught  with  visions  of  the  blessed,  where  none 

Could  wish  a  moment  spent  more  pleasantly, 

And  all  do  grieve  that  hours  are  so  fleet. 

But  save  us  from  the  ocean's  wreckage! 

Where  sits  the  demoned  hunger,  gnawing  at 

The  vitals;  thirst  that  maddens  for  a  draught 

Of  lashing  foam,  or  gulp  of  that  blue  hell  broth, 

Surging  further  down,  that  burns  into 

The  life  blood  like  a  fire  never  quenched 

Until  its  victim  seeks  relief  beneath 

The  frowning  waters,  coral  stranded, 


VILLE    DE   SAINT    NAZAIRE.  123 

Robed  in  seaweed  for  eternal  sleep. 

Thus  surrounded,  floundered  on  the  boat — 

Old  Time,  in  mockery  stood  still;  the  days 

Seemed  years;  the  hours,  months,  and  moments,  days, 

Half  halting  with  the  ages  as  they  passed. 

A  week  out  on  the  lashing  waves,  with  want 

Aboard,  unbridled  for  his  human  gorge; 

The  little  craft,  unmanned,  lay  helpless,  drifting, 

When  was  sighted  off  the  Fenish  Islands  by 

The  Hilda.     All  were  dead  but  four  wan  forms 

And  they  were  raving  with  delirium. 

Three  bodies  rolled  with  every  swell  upon 

The  boat's  wet  bottom,  while  at  stern  there  sat 

A  form,  half  clad,  upright  and  rigid,  yet 

Still  firmly  holding  to  the  restless  tiller, 

With  eyes  wide  open,  peering  forward  through 

The  mist  and  spray,  as  if  in  duty  bound, 

Alive  or  dead,  to  keep  the  boat  afloat, 

And  save  the  wreck  of  human  life  remaining. 

God  seems  to  have  ordained  it  that  the  soul 

Of  man  should  be  revealed  when  ruined  hopes 

And  desolation  overtake  the  forms 

We  love,  and  death's  pale  horse  sweeps  on 

Toward  the  highlands  of  eternity. 

But  then,  endurance  of  the  bravest  hath 

Its  limit;  so  it  was  with  Pierre  X.  Mucore. 

His  spirit  stood  a  moment  on  his  face 

And  broke  a  smile  upon  his  rigid  lips — 

For  as  he  looked  and  steered  he  surely  saw 

The  blissful  haven  of  eternal  rest 

Where  sorrow  ends  and  joy  forever  reigns. 


'Che  Lover's  farewell 

Leona,  harsh  Leona,  how 

I  loved  thee,  tongue  can  never  tell. 

Leona,  harsh  Leona,  now 

With  bitterness  I  say  farewell. 

The  hope  of  all  my  early  years, 

Has  turned  to  wormwood  and  gall, — 

I  go,  but  shall  restrain  my  tears, 
And  no  return  shall  meet  your  call. 

You  did  by  words  and  winning  ways, 
And  all  the  charm  that  love  displays, 

Enchant  my  heart  to  sing  your  praise, 
And  kindle  longings  to  a  blaze. 

Ah  !  laugh  you  may,  you  cunning  elf, 
Ah  !  laugh  to  scorn,  this  passion  mine, 

Ah  !  laugh,  and  look  upon  yourself, 
As  one  above  me,  and  divine. 

Hadst  thou  restrained  me  in  advance, 
Hadst  thou  but  said,  "  It  is  in  vain," 

Hadst  thou  but  warned  me  in  my  trance, 
It  would  have  saved  my  soul  from  pain. 

But  like  a  fawn  to  me  you  skipped, 
When  in  the  garden  came  I  near, 

And  elfish-like,  to  me  you  tipped 
Your  hand  and  lip  for  welcome  cheer. 

124 


THE    LOVER'S    FAREWELL.  125 

How  could  I  help  to  love  a  thing, 

So  lovely  and  so  sweet  to  me ; 
How  could  I  help  to  feel  the  sting, 

As  he  who  toys  the  honey  bee  ? 

And  now  you  say.you  had  no  thought — 

That  I  was  like  a  little  shad, 
With  crumbs  and  pin-hook  glibly  caught, 

And  then  complain — "  It  is  too  bad  !" 

I  know  the  power  you  possess, 

To  make  a  man  an  arrant  fool ; 
I  know  the  charm  of  your  caress, 

And  laughing,  send  a  heart  to  shoal ! 

It  is  all  ended  now,  my  lark, 

I  know  your  method  and  can  prove — 
You  strike  a  blaze,  without  a  spark 

Of  sympathy,  or  light  of  love. 

Laugh  on,  and  giggle  as  you  may — 

I  feel  the  steel  within  my  breast, 
I  will  not  hope  you  to  repay, 

This  poignant  sorrow  and  unrest. 

The  blush  of  youth  is  on  your  cheek, 

A  smile  enchants  your  lip  to  curl, 
You  will  the  hearts  of  others  seek, 

And  when  they're  found,  you'll  call  them  "churl." 

But  in  the  matchless  tune  you  play 

Upon  the  chords  of  manly  love, — 
Beware  !  there's  sure  to  come  a  day, 

That  will,  in  truth,  your  ruin  prove. 

The  sweet  forget-me-not  does  bloom, 
And  crumble  into  shining  dust, 


126  POEMS    OF   LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

But  leaves  a  fragrance  on  its  tomb, 
That  tells  of  love  and  sweetest  trust. 

And  so  it  is  with  all  things  pure, 

And  so  it  is  with  loving  souls, 
Yet  fickleness  cannot  endure, 

But  ashes  to  its  lips  it  holds. 

Farewell,  your  bitter  day  will  come ; 

Farewell,  your  youth  will  soon  be  gone  ; 
Farewell,  your  calloused  heart,  all  dumb, 

Will  gasp  for  help  when  there  is  none. 

I  will  not  leave  thee  with  a  curse, 
I've  loved  too  well  to  harbor  hate — 

I've  loved  too  well,  and  now  can  scarce 
Resign  thee  to  thy  coming  fate. 

I  give  my  hand  and  thus  we  part ; 

I  give  my  hand  and  wish  you  well  ; 
I  give  my  hand  but  not  my  heart, 

For  such  as  yours  is  love  in  hell. 

A  time  will  come,  as  come  it  must, 
When  all  your  fickleness  will  fail  ; 

A  time  will  come,  when  in  the  dust, 

You  may  your  thoughtless  words  bewail. 

I  go  as  one  who  daggers  feel, 

Who  seeks  to  hide  from  further  ill, 

And  temper  up  his  heart  to  steel, 
Against  the  passion  with  me  still. 

Farewell !  and  may  your  faith  abide, 
That  justice  has  been  done  to  me  ; 

Farewell !  I  go,  as  does  the  tide, 
That  sighing,  dies  upon  the  sea. 


Carrnena's  Curse* 


The  miner's  wife  stood  in  the  door, 

The  miner's  wife  at  Hazleton, 
With  care  her  features  spreading  o'er, 

From  stint  of  fare  her  husband  won. 

Her  dress  was  neat,  with  threadbare  sleeves, 
With  mended  skirt,  of  faded  check, 

With  apron  tattered  at  the  eaves, 
And  ribbon  bound  about  the  neck. 

Her  feet  were  shoeless,  white  and  bare, 
Her  face  was  of  the  Grecian  mould, 

Loose  flowed,  unbound,  her  yellow  hair, 
The  counterpart  of  yellow  gold. 

Close  pressed  within  her  loving  arms, 
Her  child  was  mantled  on  her  breast, 

While  throb  to  throb  the  lifeblood  warms, 
The  little  one,  with  hand  caressed. 

Her  eyes  were  strained  far  down  the  street, 
Toward  the  miner's  caverned  hole, 

As  if  expectant  there  to  meet 
The  living  image  of  her  soul. 

The  cruel  guns  !     She  heard  the  blast, 
That  murdered  twenty  mining  men  ; 

She  listened,  watched  each  face  that  passed, 
Before  her  on  the  slippery  lane. 

127 


128  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Then  came  in  sight  an  ambulance. 

Made  of  a  miner's  coat  and  tore, 
And  while  she  stood  beside  in  trance, 

They  bore  it  through  her  humble  door. 

They  gently  raised  it  in  their  strength, 
And  laid  in  on  the  cheerless  bed, 

And  there  she  saw,  stretched  out  at  length, 
Her  noble  husband,  pale  and  dead. 

One  shriek  she  gave,  and  to  the  floor, 
Fell  like  a  stick  or  cobblestone, 

To  see  her  helpmate  grim  with  gore, 
Her  life,  her  earthly  all,  her  own. 

Dazed  in  the  passing  days  that  came, 

Upon  this  harrow  of  her  heart, 
She  grieved  in  silence,  called  his  name  : 

"  My  dearest  Leo,  who  us  part?  " 

Misfortunes  come,  not  like  the  tramp, 

Wan,  sad  and  singly,  alone, 
But  press  in  squads  and  with  us  camp, 

Until  all  hope's  forever  gone. 

Her  babe,  unnurtured,  life  went  out, 

As  does  a  fitful  fire  spark, 
As  does  a  glow  worm  creep  about, 

Then  close  its  wings,  and  all  is  dark. 

Suns  came  and  went,  she  saw  them  not, 
Days  passed  like  beads  upon  a  string, 

While  listless  by  her  little  cot, 

She  watched  the  midnight's  sable  wing. 

Then  came  another  trial,  fast — 
The  last  she  did  endure  but  one: 


CARMENA'S  CURSE. 

The  words  "  evicted  "  chilling  blast, 
Fell  on  her  ears  at  Hazleton. 

Her  store  of  rags  upon  the  street, 

With  ghoulish  glee  and  curse  were  cast ; 

With  hands  about  her  breast  she  beat — 
In  tears  she  said,  "  This  is  the  last." 

That  night  she  kneeled  beside  the  grave, 
Her  child's  and  husband's — one  with  two, 

And  made  a  vow  to  help  the  brave, 
This  hellish  work  of  fiends  undo. 

"  Is  this  the  work  of  men?  "  she  said, 

"  Is  this  a  land  where  Christians  dwell  ?  " 

"  That  sanctions  this — these  miners  dead, 
This  tyranny  that's  worse  than  hell  ?  " 

"  This  ghoulish  wealth — the  miner's  blood, 
That  warm  is  shed  upon  the  earth, 

Ascends  like  incense  to  their  God, 
And  gives  the  tramp  an  anarch  birth. 

"  For  every  creature  now  that  lives, 
There's  full  enough  without  this  strife, 

For  God  to  every  creature  gives, 
The  right  of  substance  for  his  life. 

"  If  greed  shall  take  the  toiler's  bread, 
Through  forms  of  ill  begotten  law, 

If  greed  has  filled  these  graves  with  dead, 
Soon  Justice  will  the  dagger  draw. 

"  Old  Shylock's  millions  running  high, 
While  millions  hunger  for  a  crust — 

While  millions  pine  away  and  die, 
And  mingle  with  their  mother  dust. 


130  POEMS    OF   LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

4 '  Shall  belch  his  lucre  out  again, 
While  woe  and  want,  in  frenzied  ire, 

Shall  drench  in  blood  the  street  and  plain 
And  lash  the  rich  with  whips  of  fire. 

"  I  will  not  rest,  God  help  me  on, 

To  do,  and  as  a  woman  dare, 
The  kings  of  earth  to  help  dethrone, 

And  help  the  millions  in  despair. 

"  God  blast  the  Judge,  his  Judge  made  law — 
God  blast  the  fiend  that  has  no  heart, 

Who  in  his  meshes,  thousands  draw, 
To  rob  at  will  and  leave  no  part. 

"  It  is  enough — the  die  is  cast ! 

It  is  enough — it  is  the  last ! 
The  shackles  shall  from  labor  fall ! 

Or  Revolution  ruin  all !  " 


JVIay  de  Veres* 

Full  fifty  years  have  passed  since  then, 
And  little  boys  have  grown  to  men, 
And  men  have  grown  to  hoary  age, 
And  passed  like  shadows  from  the  stage, 
From  all  their  work  and  active  life, 
Of  sorrows  full  and  much  of  strife. 

The  little  maids  have  reached  their  bloom, 

Have  reached  beyond  and  to  the  tomb, 

Have  many  fair  and  noble  gone, 

As  dreams  of  early  youth  have  flown — 

Since  May  de  Veres  left  my  side, 

With  angel  fairies  for  a  guide. 

Like  tides  that  flood  the  dreary  beach, 
With  sobs  and  sighs  but  never  speech, 
Has  been  the  ebb  and  bitter  flow, 
Of  heart  and  soul  and  earthly  woe. 
For  her  I  lost  for  heaven's  gain — 
For  her  I  loved — but  not  in  vain. 

A  fever  came,  as  does  a  thief — 
Its  stay  was  harsh  but  very  brief, 
It  robbed  the  world  of  fairest  gem, 
It  robbed  poor  hearts,  and  left  to  them 
Who  mourned  the  lovely  treasure  lost — 
But  faded  leaves  as  of  a  frost. 

Her  dolly  age  had  hardly  fled, 
Nor  hardly  had  it  found  its  bed, 

181 


132         POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

In  all  its  finest  clothing  dressed, 
Sweet  kissed  and  in  her  arm  caressed 
And  laid  away  to  garret  rest — 
Ere  I  had  been  supremely  blessed. 

Blessed  in  her  love  when  but  a  child, 
Blessed  in  her  love  with  rapture  wild- 
And  ere  the  warmth  of  sunny  years 
Had  known  of  want  or  worldly  cares, 
I  had  no  other  thought  than  hers, 
And  with  our  play  oft  mingled  tears. 

Her  father  stern,  forbid  the  coo, 
Her  mother's  love  was  ever  true — 
And  when  she  knew  her  little  maid 
Was  skittish — in  degree  afraid, 
As  oft  she  did  essay  to  be — 
8he  plead  that  I  would  with  her  gee. 

Her  home  was  in  a  little  glen, 
Just  where  the  vale  sloped  into  hill, 
Just  on  the  merge  of  mountain  fen, 
Just  by  the  run  of  rippling  rill, 
Where  alders  glistened  in  the  light, 
And  hawthornes  blossomed  fair  to  sight. 

The  sweetest  hearts  lived  in  that  cot, 
Fair  flowers  grew  about  the  door, 
Fair  walks  about  the  garden  run, 
Fair  vines  the  porchway  spreading  o'er, 
As  if  to  cheer  the  lovely  one, 
And  seemed  to  say,  "  Forget-me-not." 

It  seems  a  phantom  of  the  mind, 

So  many  days  have  flown  since  then, 

So  many  years  of  sorrow  passed, 


MAY    DE   VERES.  133 

Since  plucked  we  flowers  in  the  glen, 
And  loved  each  other  to  the  last, 
While  left  we  care  and  work  behind. 

Oh  !  can  it  be  that  it  is  so  ? 

It  seems  a  dream  so  far  away — 

It  seems  a  dream  of  saddest  years  — 

It  seems  a  dream  without  decay, 

Because  embalmed  in  bitter  tears — 

Because  I  can  no  further  go. 

Though  wanes  my  saddened  lamp  of  life, 
'Twas  not  in  vain  she  went  away, 
'Twas  not  in  vain  she  loved  and  died, 
Twas  not  in  vain  my  lovely  May 
Did  not  become  my  earthly  bride — 
Did  not  become  my  wedded  wife. 

Oh  God  !  how  sad  is  thy  decree  ! 
Her  parents  grieved  beyond  control; 
They  drooped  when  Autumn's  flowers  fell, 
As  more  and  more  they  turned  to  soul, 
And  went  to  her  in  peace  to  dwell. 
And  one  large  grave  contains  them  all, 
And  I  alone  am  left  with  thee  ! 

I  feel  as  one  upon  a  shore, 
More  gloomy  than  the  darkest  night. 
With  grief-stained  face  I  wander  o'er 
The  sands  of  time  without  a  light, 
Save  that  we  have  to  mortals  given — 
Fond  hope  of  better  things  in  Heaven  ! 

The  cottage  where  my  heart  is  left, 
In  glen  below  the  crowning  cleft, 
Has  fallen  into  sad  decay, 


134  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

And  not  a  flower  left  to  blow, 
And  not  a  path  or  sunny  way 
To  nrark  where  all  the  beauty  grew. 

My  soul  does  brood  upon  this  scene, 
My  mind  with  all  its  memories  green, 
Comes  here  for  rest,  comes  here  for  thought, 
Comes  here  for  grief  that  has  no  word, 
Comes  here  for  anguish  deeply  wrought, 
For  voice  of  her  that's  never  heard. 

But  then  she  lived  not  all  in  vain  ! 
The  soul  of  man  is  not  so  true 
To  things  of  earth,  as  those  above  ; 
For  while  we  linger  here  in  pain, 
We  try  of  ill  to  much  undo, 
For  worthiness  of  those  we  love. 

I  live  as  one  who  lives  the  past, 
I  live  as  one  who's  had  his  day. 
As  lives  a  tree  that's  felt  the  blast, 
And  in  its  heart  does  feel  decay, 
And  longs  alike  for  earthly  rest 
With  soul  to  soul  among  the  blessed. 

There  is  no  death  where  she  has  flown, 
There  is  no  sin  where  she  has  gone, 
But  purer  far  than  roses  bloom. 
I'll  claim  her  always  for  my  own, 
And  live  as  one  who  lives  to  gain 
A  crown  of  peace — with  her  to  reign. 


Soul  F)armony. 

I  love  the  streams  that  sing  along, 
The  mountain's  shadowed  glen  ; 

I  love  the  forest — not  the  throng 
Of  anxious,  weary  men. 

Life's  fondest  dreams  are  found  alone 

Among  the  woodland  hills, 
Or  where  the  warblers  crown  the  zone, 

With  melody  that  thrills. 

The  sadness  of  the  world  is  wrought — 

Engendered  by  the  race — 
Of  those  who  in  their  hearts  have  fought 

The  talisman  of  peace. 

The  Ignis  fatuus  of  the  hope, 
That  wealth  will  give  us  bliss, 

Is  but  a  strand  of  rotten  rope — 
The  devil's  hit  or  miss. 

The  glory  of  the  world  is  not, 

The  gaudy  dress  and  rod; 
Nor  by  the  glittering  gold  begot, 

And  worshipped  as  a  god. 

How  vain  are  all  these  empty  shows 

Of  tinsel-burthened  prize, 
Where  Mammon  into  greatness  grows, 

While  love  and  friendship  dies. 

135 


136  POEMS    OF    LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

The  steepled  church  is  nob  the  place, 
Where  God  will  hear  the  call 

Of  those  who  seek  to  see  his  face, 
With  love  and  hope  for  all. 

If  purity  of  life  we  seek 

Religion  of  the  heart, 
Kind  words  of  love  to  others  speak, 

And  bid  the  wrong  depart. 

Go  counsel  God  deep  in  the  wood, 
And  list  the  whispering  trees  ; 

The  warbling  birds  in  cadence  flood 
The  wings  of  every  breeze. 

Put  down  your  breast  upon  the  ground, 

Your  heart  upon  the  sod  ; 
And  throb  to  throb  your  soul  is  found, 

In  unity  with  God. 

Sweet  peace  and  love  will  come  to  thee, 
Like  incense  through  the  air 

Falls  on  the  triune,  one  in  three, 
And  three  in  one  are  there. 


'Cime* 

How  unconcerned  and  willful  do 

We  squander  Time  !     Always  present,  yet 

Forever  moving  !     Half  unheeded  in 

Our  hurry  for  continual  change, 

With  hope  for  better  days.     His  footprints  fall 

Relentlessly  upon  each  living  thing, 

The  impress  there  remaining  ever  more, 

Regardless  of  all  wish  of  puny  man. 

His  course  is  never  stayed  !     No  bugle  call, 

JS"o  moving  legions  on  the  field  of  blood  ; 

The  raging  storms,  the  rolling  floods  or  crush 

Of  worlds,  are  powerless  to  stay  an  ebb 

Of  that  relentless  tide  that  moves  at  his 

Commanding,  down  among  the  shadows  of 

The  dead,  where  silence  is  forever  dumb. 

His  rounding  out  the  dimpled  cheeks  of  youth, 
And  giving  to  the  lover  all  his  dreams  of  bliss, 
And  every  hope  we  have  does  hang  upon 
His  evanescent  wing,  like  lily  bloom — 
Or  silver  lining  to  a  passing  cloud. 
How  many  gaudy  castles,  formed  along 
His  pathway,  in  the  morning  of  our  lives, 
Have  tumbled  into  dust  and  bitterness 
Of  heart — is  all  remaining  of  the  thought ! 
How  strange  the  bittersweet — the  bliss  and  gall, 
That  crowd  each  other  on  the  run  of  Time 
Like  black  and  purple  beads  upon  a  string, 
That  round  and  round  with  him  forever  go  ! 

187 


138  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

How  sad  the  thought  that  with  a  beaming  smile 
Of  promise  on  his  lips,  that  beckons  us 
To  follow  in  his  labyrinths,  for  weal 
Or  woe — we  go  in  faith,  and  trustingly  ! 

Yet  while  we  go,  we  know  that  every  step 

We  tread,  there's  echoes  from  the  dead — that  all 

Who  follow  him  must  grieve  for  ruined  hopes 

And  disappointments — dim  with  flowing  tears. 

But  then,  Old  Fate  has  so  decreed  it,  for 

He  holds  a  hand  above  us  with  a  rod 

Of  iron  to  compel  obedience. 

The  only  consolation  left  us  is — 

That  precious  hours  passing  are  our  own, 

In  which  to  fit  all  for  eternity. 

We  should  improve  these  moments  as  they  fly, 

For  all  the  wisdom  of  a  world  of  men 

Can  never  tell  by  learning  or  in  art, 

The  record  of  a  single  day  unborn. 


Bvil  Omens* 


In  bitterness  of  soul  there  comes, 

Like  storms  that  brew  upon  the  mighty  main, 

Where  winds  prevail  amid  cold  sleet  and  rain, 

And  on  the  shores  runs  high  the  heaving  tide  — 

While  clothed  in  darkness,  demons  onward  ride 

With  grinning  front  above  the  raging  flood, 

And  dismal  voice  that  echoes  up  to  God: 

A  cataclasm  in  affairs  of  men 

Approaches,  such  as  there  has  seldom  been. 

Like  noble  form  of  some  great  goddess  born, 
The  Nation  sleeps,  all  sere,  with  mantle  torn; 
Her  feet  unshod,  her  lovely  shoulders  bare, 
And  in  her  eyes,  great  tears  are  gathered  there, 
Because,  though  slumber  dims  the  mortal  sight, 
Within  her  soul  there  shines  a  conscious  light 
That  ill  betides  of  coming  troubles  deep, 
While  weeping  thus,  in  pain,  she  tries  to  sleep. 

This  silent  grief  that  from  her  lips  escape, 
Has  caused  her  people  to  believe  a  rape 
Has  been  committed  on  the  form  they  love, 
And  now  are  anxious  for  a  chance  to  prove 
Where  is  the  vandal  who  has  done  the  deed  ? 
Where  is  the  wrong  that  makes  the  nation  bleed  ? 
Where  is  the  hand  that  laid  the  goddess  low 
And  struck  the  garland  from  her  placid  brow  ? 

139 


140  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

The  murmur  first,  was  like  the  sighing  sea, 
Or  like  a  soul  that  struggles  to  be  free, 
That  grows  by  sobs  into  a  mighty  wail, 
As  howls  the  wind  about  a  shivered  sail, 
Until  the  Nation  seems  as  if  despair, 
Would  come  to  men  and  women  everywhere, 
As  face  to  face  they  turn,  as  if  to  know 
What  hand  is  this  that  would  the  State  undo? 

As  scudding  clouds  foretell  the  coming  gale  ; 
As  frozen  snow  and  rain,  the  rattling  hail — 
The  flood  kept  back  so  long,  of  burning  tears — 
The  crop  of  anguish  grown  for  many  years ; 
The  famished  infant  in  its  mother's  arms 
Should  bring  the  Nation  fear  and  great  alarm, 
That  will  not  down  while  millions  short  of  food 
Lift  up  their  voice  in  prayer  to  God. 

The  scales  are  falling  from  the  people's  eyes, 
The  mists  of  doubt  from  minds  obscure  arise; 
And  now,  as  comes  increasing  light,  they  see 
That  courts  of  justice  (?)  grow  the  Upas  tree ; 
That  trusts  behind  them  stand  with  hellish  glare, 
And  bid  them  serve  the  peop]e,  if  they  dare ! 
And  as  these  Judges  know  old  Shylock's  stealth, 
They  chose  to  serve  these  men  of  sordid  wealth. 

The  public  press  contends  that  all  is  right, 
That  all  the  trouble  is,  bold  cranks  affright 
"  Old  Confidence,"  and  seek  to  keep  away 
The  re-appearance  of  a  brighter  day. 
And  every  ghoul  and  every  beast  of  prey, 
Who  robs  and  kills,  re-echoes,  "  better  day," 
And  try  with  skill  to  ebb  the  rising  flood, 
While  all  their  aids  declare,  "  There  is  no  God." 


EVIL    OMENS.  141 

There  is  no  God  but  gold  and  lust  and  greed ; 
And  thus  distressed,  the  Nation's  gone  to  seed, 
Amid  the  wreck  and  glory  of  her  past — 
Amid  confusion  that  will  ever  last — 
Until  the  people,  hand  to  hand,  contend 
Against  the  monsters,  who  their  forces  lend 
To  thwart  all  justice  ;  robbers  give  their  aid 
And  laugh  to  scorn  a  Nation  thus  betrayed. 

All  hope  and  truth  have  not  forever  gone; 

All  honor  has  not  from  the  Nation  flown ; 

Pale  through  the  gloom  that  now  obscures  the  light, 

Like  sunbeams  breaking  through  the  darkest  night — 

I  see  a  gleam  of  hope,  as  tops  the  whispering  pine, 

When  morning  comes  apace  with  light  divine, 

And  with  it  comes  the  echo  through  the  land — 

"  Hail  Brother,  friend,  come  join  us  heart  and  hand !" 

As  drops  of  water,  mingled,  make  the  flood ; 
As  mites  of  dust,  the  universe  of  God, 
So  little  hands  and  hearts  united  hold 
A  wealth  more  precious  far  than  gods  of  gold. 
A  Nation's  trust  is  in  their  mighty  arms, 
To  bear  her  flag  on  high,  when  social  storms 
Arise  from  wrongs  imposed  upon  the  race, 
By  those  who  rule  and  grind  the  people's  face. 

Strong  hands  and  hearts  in  union,  joined  with  truth. 
Can  give  the  Nation  sere,  immortal  youth ; 
Can  save  the  Ship  of  State  that  drifts  ashore, 
Amid  the  rocks  and  reefs  and  billows'  roar. 
Where  wrecks  of  all  the  ages  heaping,  hoard 
With  loss  of  all  the  clans  that  went  on  board 
So  let  each  one  assist  to  tack  the  sail 
And  hold  with  might  the  guiding  tiller  wheel. 


142  POEMS    OF    LOVE   AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Courage  friends  !  the  right  will  yet  prevail, 
And  millions  yet  unborn,  with  joy  will  hail, 
High  on  the  ramparts,  far  above  the  flood 
Of  human  wrath  and  all  the  hellish  brood 
Of  ghouls  who  rob  and  on  their  victims  gloat — 
The  banner  of  the  free,  with  wave  and  float, 
All  stars  undimmed  and  every  stripe  unfurled 
That  dares  a  danger  and  defies  the  world. 


Lillian. 


I  knew  her  in  her  early  years, 
Before  her  budding  bloom, 

I  knew  her  ere  her  childish  cares 
Had  given  the  woman  room. 

Her  face  was  like  an  open  book, 
Her  heart  was  in  her  hand, 

With  grace  of  heaven  in  her  look, 
No  angel  could  command. 

She  lived  as  does  a  fairy  queen, 
Within  some  sylvan  shade, 

To  love  her  was  but  to  be  seen, 
This  blushing,  little  maid. 

Her  home  was  fair  and  bowered  o'er, 

Beside  the  singing  sea, 
Where  shells  upon  the  shining  shore. 

Have  much  of  love  for  me. 

Not  that  I  love  the  yellow  sand, 

Not  that  I  love  the  shell, 
But  that  they  oft  were  in  her  hand, 

Or  where  her  footsteps  fell. 

The  ocean  tides  that  sung  and  played, 

Along  the  gleaming  shore, 
Revered  her  tracks  wherever  made, 

And  never  washed  them  o'er. 

143 


144  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

And  on  the  hill  and  in  the  vale, 

Wherever  she  has  tread , 
The  charm  is  such  they  never  fail, 

To  grow  a  flower  bed. 

Her  step  is  like  the  forest  fawn, 
That  nimbi es  through  the  wood, 

Or  like  the  lambs  upon  the  lawn, 
In  search  of  flower  food. 

When  day  has  settled  with  the  sun, 
And  stars  come  out  to  shine, 

And  take  their  places,  one  by  one, 
With  faces  all  divine. 

Fair  Lillian  takes  her  seat  above, 

On  deck  of  gabled  hall, 
And  sings  with  all  the  strength  of  love, 

With  voice  of  sweetest  call. 

While  in  her  eyes  there  shines  a  light, 
From  depths  of  azure  blue, 

That  dims  the  stars  that  twinkle  bright, 
And  moon  and  all  the  crew 

Of  worlds  that  brim  with  fairy  glow 

To  light  the  darkened  world  below. 


'Che  Old  JYlan's  Lament 


Dear  Brother,  Comrade,  can  you  see 

Beyond  the  gloom  that  now  obscures 
The  life  of  poor  men,  bound  and  free, 

And  every  one  who  wrong  endures, 
From  those  who  rule  and  those  who  sway 

God's  people  in  their  blinded  trust, 
Who  toil  and  grieve  from  day  to  day, 

And  live  upon  a  scanty  crust  ? 

Mine  eyes  grow  dim  with  heavy  years 

Of  ceaseless  effort  to  remove 
The  blighted  life  and  burning  tears, 

Of  her  I  vowed  to  ever  love ; 
Of  those  intrusted  to  our  care, 

By  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well ; 
By  Him  whose  constant  cross  I  bear, 

And  of  his  sweetness  love  to  tell. 

Four  children  given,  have  we  yet, 

Were  raised  in  faith  and  humble  truth 

So  deep  instilled  will  not  forget, 

The  lessons  learned  in  early  youth  ; 

Will  not  forget  their  love  of  home  ; 
Will  not  forget — go  where  they  will, 
The  little  house  beneath  the  hill ; 

And  yearly  now  to  it  they  come. 

145 


146  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

Sad  days  are  these  that  come  to  me, 

That  pass  like  shadows,  when  the  night 

Is  on  the  valley  and  the  sea ; 

And  yet  the  mountain  tops  are  bright 

With  glintage  of  the  setting  sun 

Of  life's  fond  hopes,  and  still  they  run 

Above  the  amber-tinted  trees ; 

Beyond  the  circle  of  the  seas. 


JYIusic* 


Hast  thou  heard  the  murmuring  music  in 
The  sunbeam's  whisper  from  the  stellar  world  ? 
Or  listened  on  some  charming  evening  to 
The  silver-luted  moon,  that  breathing,  sings 
Among  the  garden  shrubs  and  mountain  pines  ? 
For  he  who  hath  a  soul  that  does  commune 
With  God  in  nature,  holds  the  key  that  can 
Unlock  a  world  of  beauty  to  his  gaze — 
And  hear  the  sound  of  sweetest  harmony 
That  falls  like  incense  from  the  shining  spheres, 
Which  move  like  gems  forever  round  and  round 
Their  common  centers,  lights  outhanging,  as 
Fair  beacons  for  fraternal  guidance. 
All  the  world  is  but  a  symphony — 
If  we  could  only  still  our  souls  to  hear 
The  harp  of  nature,  sounding  all  about. 
But  when  thou  seekest  it  remember  this : 
That  pearls  and  gems  will  never  fatten  swine ; 
That  music's  jewel  is  the  tuneful  ear, 
With  heart  and  mind  in  purest  sympathy 
Refined  to  essence  of  divinity. 


147 


'Cbe  Cdatcbrnan* 

Hail !  watchman,  on  the  citadel ! 

Hail !  guardsman,  at  your  post ! 
O,  can  you  see  that  all  is  well  ? 

Or  is  the  nation  lost  ? 

Who  guards  the  battlements  around 
The  country's  honor,  fame  ? 

Where  can  the  true  and  tried  be  found, 
Who  love  their  nation's  name  ? 

Brave,  on  a  thousand  fields  of  gore, 

The  life  blood  of  the  best 
Ean  down  and  mingled  with  the  shore 

That  skirts  the  soldier's  rest. 

Great  spirits  of  the  noble  dead  ; 

Great  sire  and  noble  son  : 
Are  not  the  skies  with  omens  red, 

As  when  your  work  begun  ? 

The  flag  you  carried  in  the  fight — 
The  stripes  that  sheened  the  sun  — 

The  stars  that  twinkled  in  the  night — 
Where  has  their  glory  gone? 

Go,  ask  the  toiler  in  the  mine, 

The  farmer  in  the  field  ; 
The  sturdy  merchant,  in  decline, 

If  they  can  see  the  shield  ? 

Go  to  the  mothers,  wan  and  pale, 
Their  children  scantly  fed  ; 

148 


THE   WATCHMAN.  149 

Go  out  upon  the  highway,  hail 
The  tramps  who  beg  for  bread, — 

Then  tell  me  why  this  sore  distress, 

From  causes,  what,  arise  ? 
Who  has  the  people  thus  oppressed, 

And  why  the  nation  dies. 

The  bending  heavens  from  above, 

Proclaim  God's  care  of  all — 
Proclaim  equality  and  love — 

Then  why  the  nation's  fall  ? 

O,  brother,  can  you  not  discern 

The  writing  on  the  wall  ? 
O,  will  you  not  in  duty  turn 

To  heed  your  country's  call? 

Secure  you  feel  upon  the  wave 

When  plenty  rules  the  land ; 
But  helped  to  dig  the  nation's  grave 

As  heedless  as  you  ran! 

The  coils  about  your  limbs  were  thrown, 
When  soothed  by  Mammon's  creed  ; 

You  served  their  party  as  your  own, 
And  helped  the  monster's  greed. 

His  plan  has  been  for  thirty  years 

The  people  to  divide — 
Excite  each  to  each  other's  fears, 

And  into  power  ride. 

This  done  so  long,  there's  little  left, 

Of  rights  these  traitors  heed. 
There's  little  left — we  are  bereft 

Of  liberty  indeed. 


150  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

The  banner  of  our  fathers  floats 
High  on  the  rampart  wall ; 

The  jeering  traitor  at  it  gloats 
And  wish  to  see  it  fall. 

There  is  one  hope — there's  only  one, 

On  land  or  on  the  sea — 
One  only  hope  beneath  the  sun, 

To  save  sweet  liberty  ! 

It  is  a  union  at  the  poll 
Of  men  who  dare  the  right, 

Where  brother,  father,  soul  to  soul, 
Will  vote  in  truth  or  fight ! 

Who  dare  to  break  the  tyrant's  chain, 
His  bond  and  golden  rod, 

Though  millions  in  the  fight  are  slain 
For  country  and  for  God  ! 


Shakespeare* 


Pillared  halls  in  grandeur  may  rise, 

And  columns  fair,  ascending  to  the  skies, 

Or  pyramids  of  wide  extending  base, 

But  monuments  of  some  forgotten  race 

In  ages  past,  perhaps  were  built  by  kings 

For  tombs,  or  grandeur  which  their  presence  brings 

To  living  men,  of  what  the  past  has  been 

In  art  and  science  since  the  world  began  ? 

The  crowning  hills,  the  mountains,  awe  bespeaks 

Where  snows  eternal,  clothe  their  lofty  peaks 

At  best,  but  dust,  these  haughty  emblems  are. 

Their  life  seems  as  a  day,  when  we  compare 

Their  ages  to  the  ages  of  that  wonder  one, 

Who  lived  and  died,  half-known  upon  Avon. 

Time's  withering  hand  will  crumble  these  to  dust, 

As  all  things  else  of  earth  time  surely  must 

Bring  down  their  lofty  domes  to  sad  decay, 

But  mind,  of  one  who  has  immortal  youth — 

Who  spake  and  wrote  for  all,  immortal  truth, 

Can  never  from  the  Muses  pass  away. 

Thus  move  great  souls  forever  in  advance 

Of  all  things  else,  around  their  centerstance, 

As  moves  Aurora  round  a  shining  star, — 

So  Shakespeare's  works  and  glory  will  remain 

When  hill  tops  crumble  to  the  level  plain, 

And  lyric  wonders  gathering  from  afar, 

Will  sing  as  those  who  have  no  gloomy  days, 

Upon  the  harp  and  zither  in  his  praise, 

151 


152  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

So  long  as  mind  to  mind  with  soul  adheres, 
And  moves  in  silence  on  the  fleeting  years ; 
So  long  as  turns  in  space  the  golden  sun, 
Or  chattering  rills  to  brimming  rivers  run. 


Shall  we  live  again? 

O  HORATIO, 

I  have  been  troubled  with  a  thought 
So  weird  and  full  of  mental  doubt, 
That  in  its  grasp  my  soul  is  shriveled  up, 
And  all  my  frosting  locks  are  set  on  end. 

Like  a  lone  sailor 

Sounding  the  depths  of  an  unknown  sea, 
With  lead  and  line  too  light  and  short 
To  reach  the  solid  bottom, 
I  have  in  vain  endeavored 
To  probe  the  depths  of  eternity. 
Hope  has  hung  her  shining  mantle 
On  the  crumbling  brink  of  death, 
And  beckons  me  to  speak  the  truth, 
Wrapped  in  doubt  and  mystery  beyond. 
At  times  I  seem  a  wonder  to  myself, 
And  with  anxious  heart  I  feel  around 
For  evidence  of  what  I  am, 
Like  one  groping  in  the  dark. 

The  Christian's  hope  is  based  upon  belief, 
Confirmed  to  him  by  change  of  heart ; 
While  Swedenborg's  disciples  tell 
That,  through  the  visions  of  the  mind, 
They  have  beheld  the  conscious  forms 
Of  loved  ones  counted  lost, 
And  with  them  held  communion, 
Word  for  word  and  face  to  face. 

153 


154         POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

But  then,  defective  mortal  sight, 
Looking  through  imagination's  lens, 
Is  so  uncertain  and  so  oft  deceived, 
That  like  a  rainbow's  shining  ends, 
When  reached,  but  mist  alone  remains. 
From  gloomy  chambers  of  the  skeptic's  mind, 
Like  slimy  serpents  of  a  hideous  mould, 
Crawls  out  the  dark,  cold  thought 
That  ''death  is  an  eternal  sleep," 
While  the  scoffer  and  the  babbling  fool, 
In  their  conceit,  declare  there  is  no  God ! 
Can  it  be,  good  Horatio, 
That  these  men  divine  the  truth? 
That  the  soul  is  but  a  blank  opinion, 
And  that  annihilation  stands 
Athwart  the  gaping  door  of  death  ? 

If  this  be  so, 

Then  farewell  love  and  ruined  hopes  ! 
Farewell,  reward  for  well-doing  ; 
And  let  the  longing,  thirsting  heart 
Feed  upon  its  cup  of  bitterness. 
If  death  is  an  eternal  sleep, 
Life,  in  its  vexatious  pathway 
Is  like  the  toilsome,  foot-sore  journey 
Of  a  weary,  hopeless  traveler, 
Climbing  the  heights  of  a  frozen  mountain, 
To  look  beyond  on  desolation  ! 

No,  my  friend,  it  cannot  be ! 
The  brute  does  eat  to  sating,  and  content ; 
The  birds  have  no  thought  but  song, 
And  for  their  chirping  nestlings ; 
While  man,  with  luxury  surrounded, 
With  every  tempered  want  supplied, 


SHALL    WE   LIVE   AGAIN?  155 

Sighs  and  pines  for  something 
Beyond  the  reach  of  mortal  life. 
The  contemplative  sage  in  solicitude, 
And  the  burley,  tatooed  bushrnan 
Running  naked  through  the  world, 
Draw  their  highest  inspiration 
From  the  same  fond,  joyous  source — 
The  innate  hope  of  a  hereafter. 

How  can  it  be  thus,  Horatio, 
If  there  was  not  a  purpose,  a  design, 
In  the  make-up  of  creation  ? 
If  God  has  so  ordained  it,  that  the 
Hopes  and  longings  for  a  higher  life 
Are  part  and  parcel  of  our  being, 
And  has  not  made  its  counterpart — 
A  rest,  a  respite,  beyond  ourselves — 
Then  the  crowning  glory  of  His  work 
Is  but  a  life-consuming  fire, 
Wherein  the  divinity  within  us 
Is  turned  to  dust  and  ashes. 


H  Drama 


IN   THREE  ACTS 


ENTITLED 


Grover  the  first 


WRITTEN  IN  1894;  REVISED 


Cast 

GROVER  CLEVELAND,  White  House  Parlor. 

MRS.  CLEVELAND. 

JOHN  SHERMAN. 

C.  P.  HUNTINGTON. 

ATTORNEY  GENERAL  OLNEY. 

A.  R.  U.  DEBS. 

JERRY  SIMPSON. 

SENATOR  DAN  VOORHEES. 

SENATOR  HILL. 

SECRETARY  OF  WAR  LAMONT. 

POPULIST  MOB,  ETC. 


158 


6rovcr  the  first. 


ACT  I. 

Enter  CLEV. 

And  this  is  what  the  world  calls  greatness! 
The  circling  earth  to  its  uttermost 
Doth  surely  herald  our  supremacy. 
Men  once  counted  quite  my  equals  in 
Affairs  of  state  have  grown  so  small  in  this 
Commanding  presence,  that  I  do  appear 
Like  Gulliver  surrounded  by  his  pigmies. 
"  A  little  brief  authority,"  as  Shakespeare 
Hath  it,  does  not  apply  to  me,  for  men 
Were  then  much  nearer  equals,  and  the  few 
Who  ruled  did  sport  in  skins,  and  eat  their  game 
In  hand,  with  twisted  legs  upon  the  ground. 
That  age  of  foolish  kings  who  lived  as  swine 
Has  passed  away  like  slickings  from  a  flume, 
And  left  the  shining  gold  behind. 
With  this  bright  oar  we  lash  and  goad  the  men, 
Who  dig  all  wealth  from  out  the  solid  earth, 
To  racks  of  want,  with  cords  of  usury. 

Justice  cries  against  us  for  laying  on 
This  heavy  load;  but  Justice  hath  no  hold 
On  men  who  thong  and  bind  their  fellows  down. 
It  is  an  essence  of  unmeasured  weight, 
That's  seldom  felt  by  him  who  deals  it  out; 
And  then,  in  this  great  Babel  of  confusing 
Tongues,  where  each  reformer  knifes  his  brother's 
Hobby  to  the  heart,  and  strides  some  blunderbus 

159 


160  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

That  shoots  both  ways,  oft  killing  more  of  friends 
Than  foes;  coupled  with  the  servile  press, 
That  freely  feeds  upon  the  spawn  and  spoor 
Exuding  from  the  loins  of  grasping  wealth, 
Until  its  ghoulish  growth  obtrudes  upon 
Disgust,  and  at  command  doth  bay  the  moon, 
Or  howl  oblivion  down  upon  the  dolt 
Who  dares  obstruct  the  robber  on  his  raids 
Against  the  substance  of  the  many, 
That  favored  few  may  pile  up  greater  wealth, 
Do  give  us  full  control  and  pow'r  supreme 
O'er  men  and  measures  meted  out  to  them. 

Other  souls,  besides  myself,  have  lived 
With  some  pretense  and  show  of  greatness- 
Such  as  Caesar  and  Napoleon; 
But  for  a  man  all  rounded  out  with  great 
Proportions,  I  have  never  had  an  equal! 
And  so  crowned  heads  of  sleepy  Europe 
And  islands  of  the  sea  do  court  my  favor, 
Counsel  seek;  and  should  the. kins;  of  kings, 
Great  Rothschild,  so  ordain  it,  I  could  spit 
In  all  their  faces  with  impunity. 

But  why  stop  I  to  thus  soliloquize 
While  Fortune's  flood-tide  sweeps  me  onward? 
Ere  two  more  years  of  rule  have  passed  away 
The  bubbling  hell-broth  I  am  stirring  in 
The  pottage  mess  of  want  and  woe  and  hate 
Will  fill  the  gaping  maw  of  Anarchy 
And  start  the  froth  of  revolution. 
Then  the  time  is  come  to  set  a  heel 
Of  iron  on  the  heart  of  discontent, 
And  wipe  the  earth  with  all  my  enemies! 
Between  the  two  extremes  in  every  move 
There  is  a  midway  halt — beyond  that  point 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  161 

We've  passed,  and  now  tend  downward  as  the  car 
Of  state  goes  grinding  'round  the  curves  of  time; 
And  every  milestone  pass'd  too  plainly  shows 
Increasing  speed!     Where  shall  we  put  on  brakes? 
A  single  swing  along  this  doubtful  road 
May  bring  disaster  to  my  glowing  hopes. 

But  why  grow  nervous  at  the  timid  thought 
Of  failure  when  with  mind  prodigious, 
Steady  hand,  and  nerves  of  hammered  steel? 
With  all  the  wealth  and  cunning  of  the  world 
To  back  me  in  this  greedy  enterprise, 
There's  little  chance  of  failure  in  design. 
The  army  is  my  greatest  shield  in  this 
Emergency.     Its  drill-beat  now  is  heard 
In  every  State,  and  lengthening  lines  of  foot 
And  horse  are  on  their  way  to  Washington; 
So  all  things  do  portend  the  coming  man 
Of  crowning  rank,  and  greatest  destiny. 
But  when  events  herein  portrayed 
Shall  make  Ambition  weep  for  other  worlds 
To  conquer,  what  title  shall  I  then  assume? 
"  President  "  was  -well  enough  for  those 
Who  have  preceded  me.     Plebeians 
Were  they,  and  plebeians  they  ruled, 
Advancement  calls  for  men  of  higher  mould 
Than  this  scrub  stock,  and  higher  names  as  well. 
Cromwell  struck  the  middle  ground  of  "  Lord 
Protector."     Similitude  there  is  between  us; 
But  years  by  hundreds  have  so  changed 
The  statis  of  the  races  ruled  in  Gaul 
And  England  then,  by  petty  lords  and  kings, 
That  I  can  hardly  pattern  after  them. 

So  nothing  short  of  Czar,  Sultan  or  Shah, 
Or  Emperor,  will  well  comport  with  all 


162  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

My  parts  outlined  upon  the  role  of  fame. 
Which  one  of  these  shall  I  select?     But  hold! 
I  do  believe  "  Grover  the  First "  would  be 
A  better  name.     Eureka!     That  will  do! 
So  let  it  be  on  land  and  sea  proclaimed, 
By  right  divine  this  name  transmitted  down 
The  line  of  my  prodigious  progeny! 

But,  then!     But,  then!     Hardly  can  I  hope 
To  live  always;  and  yet  I  have  no  son 
To  follow  me.     Two  girls  I  have,  'tis  true, 
But  she  kings  shallow  up  to  nonsense,  when 
All  dressed  for  show,  in  frills  and  furbelows. 
In  this  affair  the  state  demands  full  heads, 
Foundation  thoughts,  and  sound  discretion. 
What  shall  I  do?     And  whither  go  for  help 
In  this  supreme  emergency? 

By  zounds!, there  is  one  scheme,  and  only  one, 
To  cheat  the  fates  of  their  ordaining. 
Napoleon's  course  with  that  Beauharnais  gal 
Does  open  up  the  way,  and  would  allow  to  me 
Another  wife,  perhaps  of  royal  blood, 
To  bear  male  issue  as  successor  to 
Myself  and  ruler  over  all  this  people. 
But,  then,  there  is  a  side  to  this  bold  move 
That  does  unnerve  me  at  the  outset. 
If  I  could  cram  the  sneering  world  into 
One  neck,  of  hate,  upon  a  chopping  block, 
And  stop  its  wagging  tongue  at  one  fell  stroke, 
Green-eyed  envy  would  no  longer  belch 
Its  gall  upon  me,  like  an  ugly  adder 
Spitting  out  its  venom  from  the  grass 
On  every  unsuspecting  passer-by. 

And  as  a  vent  for  all  my  pent-up  rage, 
In  sorrow,  more  than  anger,  I  will  say, 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  163 

If  God  from  out  this  swinging  world  of  dirt 
Did  make  His  true  and  living  image  here, 
And  place  within  a  soul  immortal, 
Designed  to  keep  man's  carcass  saint-like 
In  all  this  selfish  sea  of  troubled  life, 
His  work  has  been  a  dismal  failure,  sure, 
And  that  bright  place  of  rest  prepar'd  by  Him 
For  those  who  live  uprightly  here  below 
Will  surely  be  supremely  lonesome. 
And  so,  in  all  this  clang  of  rasping  tongues, 
I  can  no  further  go  than  to  adopt 
A  son  and  heir,  perhaps  of  noble  blood, 
And  on  this  line,  I'll  speak  to  Frances  mine. 

Exit  CLEV. 

Sliding  doors  receding.     MRS.  CLEVELAND  AND  CHILDREN. 
Enter  CLEV. 

CLEV.     The  baby  sleeps,  I  see,  my  loving  wife — 

Its  mother's  pet  and  surely  greatest  joy. 

I  only  wish  it  was  a  strapping  boy, 

To  take  my  place  and  don  my  royal  robes 

When  I  am  weary  of  or  through  with  them. 

FRAN.     What  meanest  thou,  my  lord  and  master? 

CLEV.     I  mean  some  day  that  I  most  likely  shall 
Be  titled  king  or  emperor  over  all 
This  great  and  growing  people,  swaying  them 
As  Caesar  did  the  ancient  Romans. 

FRAN.     Indeed! 

CLEV.     Yes;  and  then  you  know  great  Caesar  died 
Without  the  shadow  of  an  issue, 
And  only  for  a  sickly  nephew  chance 


164  POEMS    OF   LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Did  bring  him  forward  at  the  proper  time 

The  race  of  kings  had  ended  with  his  death. 

I  cannot  take  my  chances  thus,  you  see; 

In  truth,  must  have  male  issue  born  to  me, 

And  if  this  cannot  be,  must  then  adopt 

A  son — some  one,  perhaps,  of  noble  blood — 

To  rule  this  people  with  an  iron  rod 

When  I  am  through  with  life  and  swaying  them. 

FRAN.     You  a  king!     And  I  step-mother  to 

Some  other  woman's  love  and  favored  son! 

In  heaven's  holy  name,  what  foul  conceit 

Possesses  that  surprising  head  of  yours? 

No!  no!  my  Grover,  not  so  fast;  your  mind's 

Upset  by  its  supreme  importance,  so 

I'll  get  a  rag  and  bathe  your  fever'd  brow 

With  water  from  the  fiery  Congress  well, 

To  which,  for  quenching  thirst,  proud  Carlisle  leads 

On  all  great  days  of  state  occasion. 

CLEV.     Why  jeer  and  taunt  me  thus,  and  set  at  naught 
My  will?     Remember  your  degree  of  caste! 
You  were  half-orphaned  and  unknown,  in  fact, 
When  I  did  stoop  to  call  you  wife,  and  deck 
You  with  a  title  high  above  the  thought 
And  hope  of  all  your  plebeian  kin. 

FRAN.     If  unknown  when  you  did  seek  my  hand, 

I  had  a  name  as  pure  as  drifting  snow. 

Hadst  thou  as  much,  my  noble  master? 

A  woman's  love,  unsullied  by  a  stain 

Or  blemish,  weighs  in  worth,  when  balanced  by 

A  candid  mind,  much  more  than  doughty 

Titles  won  by  men  who  slight  all  virtue, 

Not  appeasing  lust  or  selfish  ends. 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  165 

CLEV.     What!     Thus  speak  to  one  of  my  account? 
At  whose  behest  the  common  herd  doth  sway 
And  bend,  like  willow  boughs  before  a  strong 
North  wind!     Ye  Gods,  protect  us  from  the  din 
Crowned  tirade  of  a  woman  scorned! 

FRAN.     Why,  man,  what  folly  does  possess  you? 

Surely  you  are  rattled  with  your  brief 

Authority!  and  like  a  beggar,  horseback'd, 

By  some  sudden  freak  of  fickle  fortune 

Seized;  with  whip  and  spur,  through  blooming  fields, 

And  pleasant  vales,  where  singing  streams  enchant. 

And  great  armed  trees  stretch  out  their  silvan  shade, 

With  here  and  there  a  shimmering  sun-bar 

Passing  through  the  breaks,  and  falling  on 

The  emerald  earth  beneath,  like  jewel'd  wealth, 

Of  all  the  world  combin'd, — he  breathless  goes; 

With  blinded  sight  and  sense  unconscious  of 

A  single  thought,  but  that  he  rides! 

So  lay  aside  the  gads  and  trappings  of 

Disordered  will;  smooth  down  to  decent 

Manhood  all  these  rough-hewn  thoughts  of  yours, 

And  be  consistent,  and  yourself  again. 

If  gaunt  ambition  had  no  hold  on  man — 

Beyond  conceptions  of  fair  duty  to 

His  fellow  man — and  all  his  limping  ways 

Were  justified  by  conscience  of  his  own, 

Lax  and  laggard  though  it  surely  is, — 

How  chang'd  would  be  the  world  in  which  we  live! 

Conceit  would  simmer  down  to  hated  dross; 

Selfish  lives  grow  dim  with  years  of  shame; 

Great  wealth  devoted  to  the  common  good; 

Honor  stand  as  shining  guideposts  'long 

The  path  of  virtue;  chivalrous  monsters 


166  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

Cease  protecting  woman  from  insults 

On  every  hand — not  by  themselves  imposed — 

While  peace  and  plenty  everywhere  prevailed. 

CLEV.     Hold  your  rattling  tongue,  or  surely  will 
I  smash  the  hand  of  fate,  that  binds  me  as 
A  menial  thus  to  take  this  tirade! 

Enter  SHERMAN. 

SHER.     I  beg  indulgence  for  intruding  thus. 

[Aside — A  family  row,  as  I  do  live!] 

With  your  good  pleasure,  Mr.  President, 

I  simply  call'd  to  see  you  on  that  new 

Bond  issue,  spoken  of  the  other  day. 

You  know  Carlisle  is  on  the  ragged  edge 

About  the  doughhead  bill  of  wild-eyed  Bland, 

Proposing  coinage  of  the  seigniorage 

Of  that  white  metal  which  has  kept  me  on 

The  rack  of  censure  since  the  dollar  of 

Our  daddies  died  in  seventy-three. 

And  so  he's  blowing  hot  and  blowing  cold, 

Between  a  silver  curse  and  gold  adore, 

With  Shy  lock  threatening  for  a  scare; 

And  Jerry  Simpson  everywhere 

Is  railing  for  the  people's  cause, 

For  silver  free  and  fiat  laws, 

To  make  cheap  money  for  the  millions. 

And  then  your  secretary,  gushing,  throws 
His  ballast  overboard,  and  goes  and  sits 
In  Gotham  at  the  bankers'  elite  feast, 
And  wined  and  dined  so  lavishly 
That  ere  the  groaning  table's  cleared 
He  was  quite  full  up  to  the  beard. 
And  then  came  learned  financeer,  thick  and  fast, 


GROVER   THE    FIRST.  167 

From  out  his  gaping  jaws,  of  voiding  laws 
And  obsolete,  for  bases  of  new  bonds. 
And  then  he  said  in  ringing  rhapsodies, 
This  Government  is  very  great  and  can 
Do  many  things,  "  but  cannot  make  its  money." 
And  now  this  loosened  speech  is  working  on 
The  public  mind  like  brewers'  yeast  in  tubs 
And  vats  before  the  beer  is  made. 

CLEV.     Blast  your  bloody  bones,  John  Sherman,  for 
This  robber  raid  upon  our  privacy! 
You're  none  too  good  to  jeer  about  it  on 
The  gaping  streets  and  walks  of  Washington. 

SHER.     In  the  name  of  Neptune,  Grover,  what  doth 
Ail  you?     Surely  something  has  upset 
Your  stern  and  ragged-edge  diplomacy, 
And  left  the  wits  within  your  lath'ring  head 
To  swim  around  with  gloomy  chaos! 

CLEV.     Well,  since  you  have  presum'd  intrusion  on 
My  inner  life,  and  kicked  discretion  to 
The  winds,  I'll  break  the  matter  to  you,  thus: 
You  see,  my  wife  is  mad,  and  from  Pandora's 
Viper  box  hath  pour'd  her  wrath  upon  me. 

SHER.     What  outrage  upon  a  noble  woman 
Could  induce  her  silver  tongue  to  lash 
You  with  the  scorn  that's  always  uppermost 
In  every  female  heart,  when  deeply  wrong'd? 

CLEV.     Well,  you  see,  I  have  a  scheme,  born  of 
Ambition — reckless,  you  may  call  it,  though, 
But  in  conception,  brighter  than  the  moon. 

SHER.     Well? 


168  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

CLEV.     Well,  you  know,  the  ranting  curs  that  yelp 
Along  our  track  like  howling  wolves  upon 
The  pathway  of  a  frightened  flock  of  sheep — 

SHER.     Well? 

CLEV.     Well,  in  truth,  I  have  contrived  a  plan 
To  down  our  enemies  and  all  at  once, 
By  punching  these  ferments  to  boiling  heat 
In  blazing  cauldrons  of  the  common  mind, 
Until  extremes  shall  meet  in  dire  collision. 
And  then  we'll  bring  to  bear  the  heavy  arm 
Of  force  full  drilled  and  so  disciplined  to 
Our  liking,  down  upon  this  herd  of  ingrates, 
Who  jeer  at  our  endeavors  for  their  good. 
We'll  do  this  under  pretext  for  the  care 
Of  state,  with  law  and  order  for  our  shield. 
All  things  will  then  stand  still  and  tiptoed, 
Waiting  for  the  man  of  destiny; 
And  so,  you  see,  there'll  be  no  other  one 
But  me  to  take  the  role  of  dictator, 
A  la  Napoleon  or  a  Cromwell. 

SHER.     Wonderful  conception,  I  must  admit, 
Friend  Cleveland.     Nevertheless,  there  forces 
On  me  an  impression  that  the  nearer 
You  reach  the  end  in  view,  the  nearer 
Will  you  reach  the  hangman's  halter. 

CLEV.    Hold  fast  your[adder  tongue,  John  Sherman,  hold! 

I  can  but  feel  the  sharp  rebuke  that  viper 

Circles  all  your  words,  like  stinging  nettles 

Bound  about  a  rasping  sore.     You  do 

Forget  that  I  but  follow  counsel  of 

Your  own  in  this  great  game  of  nervy  chance. 

However  much  I  do  abhor  thy  presence, 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  169 

Be  assured  that  I  will  keep  my  pledge 
To  give  you  second  place  in  this  affair. 
What  riled  the  woman  when  you  entered  was 
My  kind  proposal  to  adopt  a  son, 
Perhaps  of  royal  blood,  successor  of 
Myself  to  rule  this  turbid  people. 

SHER.  (aside)  (Pray,  good  Devil,  take  me  ere  this  howling 

Fraud  brings  rack  and  ruin  on  us  all!) 

If  ever  I  did  hint  a  thing  like  that, 

And  promise  league  with  you  in  this  intrigue, 

I  now  and  here  renounce  my  claim  upon 

Your  favor.     Sackcloth  wrap  about  my  loins, 

And  hot  gall  pour  upon  my  foolish  tongue, 

For  ever  utt'ring  such  absurdity — 

And  ask  contrite  forgiveness  of  the  Lord 

For  stooping  thus  to  counsel  with  you— 

But  of  advice,  should  I  presume  to  give 

It  further,  will  just  say,  the  world  would  be 

The  better  off,  and  womanhood  in  purer 

Moods  promoted,  should  you  in  haste  withdraw 

From  her  whose  heart,  for  years  has  been  upon 

The  sacrificial  altar,  like  a  dove 

Sharp  pinioned  over  scorching  embers. 

Then,  if  ambitious  of  a  greater  name 

And  progeny  of  sire  so  big  and  grand, 

Male  born  and  greatly  like  your  strutting  self, 

Lilioukalani  surely  would  you  better  suit. 

"  Paramount  "  Blount  did  open  up  the  way 

And  Willis  hath  the  last  obstructions  mov'd 

To  your  royal  wedding  with  that  dusky, 

Dumpy,  doubtful  sea-girt  maiden. 

CLEV.     Say,  John  Sherman,  I  will  have  no  more 
Of  your  corroding,  clownish  impudence. 


170  POEMS    OF   LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

Pray,  who  are  you,  from  whom  I  gasping  take 
These  saber  cutting  wounds,  and  whiplash  stings 
That  drive  me  back  upon  my  inner  self, 
For  some  defense  that  shall  disarm  you  of 
The  spits  and  gads  on  which  you  roast  me. 
Of  all  the  men  divinely  built  of  dirt, 
And  spawned  upon  the  human  race,  you  have 
No  equal,  in  the  line,  of  aping  honest  work 
In  all  affairs  of.  state,  where  you  can  lend 
The  Devil  service,  underhand  and 
Secure,  at  Shylock  rates  of  usury. 

You've  been  a  rasping  clog  in  every  wheel 
Of  progress  started  for  the  public  good. 
With  all  the  cunning  of  a  wily  fox 
Untreed  for  trespass  on  a  chicken  roost, 
You  struck  the  dollar  from  the  coinage  act 
While  in  your  hands,  and  then  declared 
Upon  your  honor  as  a  man,  no  change 
Material,  had  been  made  therein. 
And  years  had  pass'd  before  your  cunning  work 
Was  noised  about  and  fully  understood. 
How  much  your  share  of  all  that  English  gold 
Brought  hence  by  Ernest  Syed  to  help  this  deed 
Of  infamy,  I  cannot  surely  say. 
By  intrigue,  worse  than  downright  robbery, 
Your  Wall  street  bank  is  made  a  shining  dump 
For  many  millions  of  the  people's  gold, 
On  which  for  thirty  years  they've  paid  per  cent 
Bought  up  with  bonds  now  interest  bearing; 
And  so  for  all  this  time  you've  bled  the  Nation 
Of  its  wealth,  struck  down  the  hand  of  toil, 
That  you  might  richer  grow  on  bond  per  cent, 
Per  cent  of  notes  thereon  unfairly  issued. 

And  while  you  get  per  cent  on  all  those  bonds 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  171 

And  all  these  notes,  you  hold  the  shining  gold, 

So  purchased  by  these  bonds,  and  loan  it  out 

For  your  own  profit,  thus  receiving 

Triple  rates  of  iisury  from  the  people 

On  one  surprising  single  coin  investment,  not 

Invested  in  the  notes  and  bonds  you  hold;- 

Trading  on  your  vote,  affecting  trusts 

Has  been,  no  doubt,  a  common  thing  with  you. 

And  when  Old  Shylock  wish'd  a  pliant  tool 

To  make  a  law,  or  change  some  clause  therein, 

That  would  insure  some  other  robbery 

Under  forms  of  legal  villainy, 

John  Sherman  was  the  man  thought  safest  to 

Employ,  and  thus  your  millions  have  been  piled 

Regardless  of  your  sacred  trust. 

SHER.     Hold  just  there,  your  Excellency! 

'Tis  bad  for  glass-house  dwellers  to  be 

Throwing  stones;  you  speak  of  money  made 

By  me  precariously.     May  I 

Enquire  how  many  sheckels  found 

Their  way  into  your  own  capacious  maw? 

Then  you  speak  of  my  rough  raid  on  silver! 

Before  you  struck  the  White  House  stool  nine  years 

Ago,  your  letters  railed  against  an  Act 

By  Bland,  for  monthly  silver  coinage  of 

Two  millions,  and  when  the  chair  of  state 

Was  widened  out  to  fit  a  carcass — 

Ample  in  its  hips  and  breadth  of  beam— 

You  wrote  in  Message  every  year  against 

Said  Silver  Act,  and  when  your  platitudes 

Were  smash'd  to  atoms  by  your  good  friend  Beck, 

Returned  you  to  the  sick'ning  tilt  again, 

As  does  a  sow  to  wallow  in  a  hole. 


172  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

How  much  for  that  you  did  receive  I  can 
Not  say,  nor  for  the  bills  you  father'd, 
But  this  we  know,  that  when  your  blind  horse 
Riding  ended,  forc'd  by  Tippecanoe 
Born  blood,  you  strode  into  your  Gotham  den, 
Hypothecated  and  retained 
By  near  a  hundred  gold-bug  firms  and  trusts 
And  hook-nosed  English  syndicates. 
Taking  all  these  things  together,  there's 
Small  wonder  that  you  were  returned  four  years 
Later,  through  uncommon  use  of  gold — 
And  gab  and  mugwump  paper  plaudits ; 
Scarce  seated  were  you  when  the  hell-broth  of 
Disaster  bubbled  up  on  every  hand 
From  'full  a  thousand  hidden  springs  of  greed. 

With  your  concurrence  Wall  street  started  out 
Her  sleuth-hounds  on  the  track  of  every  one 
Who  dar'd  to  cross  their  scenting  trailways, 
Demanding  payments  for  their  credits  when 
No  money  could  be  found.     In  every  city, 
Large  and  small,  they  urged  their  cohorts  for 
More  cash,  who  in  their  turn  did  pounce  upon 
The  merchant,  tradesman  and  the  farmer, 
And  every  one  did  run  amuck  in  search 
Of  yellow  eagles,  calFd  to  go  to  Gotham. 
Trade  stood  still,  appall'd.     Ten  thousand  looms 
Refus'd  to  move;  the  arts  did  lean  upon 
Decay,  and  ruin  rested  on  the  threshold 
Of  a  million  homes.     Strong  men'  were  bound, 
By  cunning  greed,  to  racks  of  penury; 
Children  crying,  famished  on  the  streets; 
And  noble  women,  nurtured  in  the  lap 
Of  virtue,  fed  upon  their  own  depravity. 
The  deed  was  done;  and,  chuckling  in  the  face 


GROVER   THE    FIRST.  -  „  173 

Of  want,  you  called  your  extra  session,  but 
Design'd  to  strangle  silver  and  its  aids, 
As  does  a  midnight  robber  strangle 
Peaceful  sleepers  in  his  ghoulish  work. 

If  I  have  freely  fed  on  fat  things  from 
The  public  funds  and  moulded  millions  out 
Of  naught  but  cheek  by  jowl  and  cunning  greed; 
The  part  you've  played  in  like  proceedings 
In  your  own  behalf  doth  dim  my  record 
In  support  of  wrong — as  does  a  pestilence 
The  memory  of  a  stomach  cramps  induced 
By  eating  corn,  or  green  persimmons. 
That  I  have  done  much  wrong  I  do  admit, 
With  much  of  sorrow  and  contrition  bowed. 
Unconscious  of  the  trend,  I've  helped 
To  lay  the  viper  eggs  that  hatch  great  trusts 
And  villain  syndicates,  which  freely  feed 
Upon  the  Nation's  tender  vitals, 
Like  vampire  bats,  wing  soothing  as  they  draw 
The  life  blood  from  their  weary  victims. 

Received  retainers  have  I  from  the  State's 
Despoiler's;  fill'd  weak  banks  and  greedy  ones 
With  gold,  bond  purchased  for  the  purpose, 
Under  plea  of  needed  coin  reserves. 
Promoted  love  of  wealth  insatiable, 
In  all  ways  helping  me  to  get  a  part 
Of  it,  and  have  not  scrupled  use  in  aid 
Of  Courts  defending  many  robberies 
But  all  these  ills  compounded  into  one 
Are  but  as  little  flaws  in  my  long  drawn 
And  checkered  life,  compar'd  to  those 
Promoted  by  your  single  self! 

Exit  SHER.  and  CLEV. 


174  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

ACT  II. 

Enter  HUNTINGTON. 

HUNT.     It  is  distressing  for  a  man  of  my 

Account  to  be  compelled  thus  nose  around 

And  court  the  favor  of  a  jackal  pack 

That's  ghoulish  in  its  greed  for  further  raids 

Upon  the  substance  of  the  common  herd; 

But,  then,  I  must  secure  some  valid  help, 

For  this  obnoxious  strike  does  worry  us 

And  stills  all  conscience,  while  my  wits  do  work. 

The  only  hope  I  have,  it  does  appear 

To  me,  is  through  old  Olney — witty  cur — 

To  Cleveland's  fierce  but  duller  judgment. 

This  attorney  sure  will  serve  us  well, 

As  we  from  nothing  made  him  what  he  is 

And  can  undo  him  with  a  single  breath. 

Enter  OLNEY. 

HUNT.     Glad  to  see  you,  Olney.     Any  news  ? 
Where  does  Cleveland  stand  in  this  great  strike? 
What  is  his  mood  to-day?     And  what  says  he 
About  the  brewing  storm?     And  what  about 
The  use  of  Federal  troops  to  put  it  down? 
Will  he  espouse  our  cause  with  that  blind  force 
Of  human  will  that  totters  empires  in 
A  day?     Has  he  the  nerve  to  stand  the  storm 
Of  wrath  exuding  from  the  common  herd, 
And  all  the  fiery  ordeal  he  must  pass 
In  calling  on  the  troops  to  stand  between 
The  strikers  and  the  moving  Pullmans? 

OL.     Be  assured,  good  friend,  that  all  is  well. 
Your  utmost  wish  has  been  anticipated. 


GROVER   THE    FIRST.  175 

You  should  have  learn'd  my  cunning  ere  this  time; 

In  fact,  the  fat  retainers  given  me 

By  you  and  your  prolific  people, 

With  promise  of  far  richer  spoils  to  come, 

Concludes  me  in  the  faith  of  this  assurance. 

You  know  the  President  is  but  a  child 

In  state  affairs.     He's  like  a  buzzing  wheel 

Of  solder  spinning  round  unsteady  base, 

While  segments  of  the  rim  are  flying  off 

At  tangents,  as  events  do  press  him  onward — 

No  boat  more  insecure  without  a  rudder. 

Wind-scudding  through  a  lashing  sea  of  foam, 

Than  is  the  ship  of  state,  with  Cleveland  at 

The  helm,  unaided  by  my  ready  hand. 

With  Bissell's  mail  conveying  order  for 

A  mudsill,  I  have  built  a  structure  that 

Will  stand  the  storm  of  this  upheaval. 

So  move  your  trains  just  as  you  wish  them;  go 
"  In  usual  and  the  ordinary  way," 
With  Pullman  cars  attached,  and  we  will  see 
No  harm  befalls  you  through  unlawful  raids 
Of  these  rough  strikers  who  are  food  for  dogs. 
Gird  up  your  loins  with  much  of  faith  and  hope, 
Good  friend,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me;  I'll  have 
The  troops  on  hand  whenever  needed  for  defense, 
And  on  pretense  of  moving  all  the  mails 
We  will  protect  your  hated  Pullmans. 
And  be  assured  of  this,  for  if  the  worst 
Should  come,  the  bayonet  shall  be  our  first 
Defense,  then  Spensers  will  play  havoc  with 
The  crowd.     If  these  will  not  let  blood  enough 
To  satisfy,  we'll  let  the  Gatlings  and 
The  cannon  loose  for  better  execution, 
And  when  the  brush  is  over  you  can  sue 


176  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

The  towns  and  cities  for  all  damage  done, 
And  get  for  carrying  supplies  and  troops 
Some  millions  more  of  Uncle  Sam's  hard  cash, 
And  so  when  final  settlements  are  made 
The  railroads  will  be  ahead  and  have 
Their  battle  fought  and  won  against  the  clans 
Of  workingmen,  to  their  distressed  undoing. 

HUNT.     Good  friend  Olney,  keep  your  word  and  be 
Assured  of  a  reward  magnificent. 
We  must  put  down  these  ranting  union  curs; 
We  cannot  suffer  them  to  gain  a  point. 
Should  they  succeed  in  this  supreme  effront, 
These  domineering  dolts  would  damn  the  land, 
Dictate  what  kind  of  men  we  should  employ, 
The  wages  we  should  pay,  what  cars  we  run, 
Tie  up  the  moving  commerce  of  the  state, 
And  chaos  come  to  every  enterprise. 

With  this  great  contest  won,  no  more  we'll  see 
This  hydra-headed  monster  starting  up 
At  every  turn  we  put  upon  the  screws, 
Designed  to  bind  these  ugly,  selfish  men 
Within  the  lines  subjective  to  our  will. 
And  then,  again,  dear  Olney,  if  you  can 
But  help  me  pass  my  little  funding  bill, 
The  wealth  of  Ormus  or  of  Ind  is  yours. 
Our  grip  will  be  renewed  in  all  the  land. 
The  Western  Coast  will  be  content  to  "  do 
Our  will " — to  take  what  taxes  we  may  mind 
To  pay,  grumble  not  at  transit  rates,  and  leave 
To  us  the  courts  and  Legislature. 

OL.     Very  well.     I  will  obey  commands  of  yours, 
Considered  now  almost  omnipotent; 
And  as  retained  by  your  munificence 


GROVER   THE    FIRST.  177 

Every  branch  of  this  great  Government 
Shall  hinge  its  action  on  your  pleasure. 

Exit. 
SCENE  II. 

Enter  DEBS. 

DEBS.     We  are  undone;  the  strike  is  surely  lost. 

God  help  us  and  our  country's  waning  cause! 

Labor,  writhing,  bleeds  beneath  the  iron  heel 

Of  corporate  and  concentrated  wealth. 

Hope  hath  her  pinions  clipped  by  usury; 

Distress  has  settled  down  upon  the  threshold 

Of  a  million  homes,  and  other  millions 

Tramp  the  streets  and  dusty  highways. 

Countless  willing  hands  are  idle  now, 

Great  want  we  have  where  plenty  should  prevail, 

While  dumb  the  nation  stands  and  paralyzed, 

And  hovers  on  the  brink  of  revolution. 

One  hope  alone  is  left  in  all  this  chaos 

Of  despair.     One  thought  should  move  each  mind 

And  nerve  the  heart  for  final  contest — 

The  ballot  yet  is  left  us.     Through  it 

We  see  the  beacon  light  of  better  days. 

A  revolution  peaceful  and  serene 

By  it  may  be  effected.     Who  will  grasp 

The  opportunity  before  it  passes? 

Let  the  little  bickerings  of  the  Nation's 

Workers  cease;  burn  from  your  bitter  souls 

The  dross  of  selfishness;  let  unity 

Of  action  be  our  ringing  watch-word  call, 

And  then  with  faith  in  God  and  man,  and  use 

Of  Ballots,  we  shall  surely  win  this  fall, 


178  POEMS    OF   LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

And  save  the  Nation  from  the  ruin 
Now  everywhere  impending. 

SCENE  III. 

Enter  CLEV.     Enter  NEWSBOY. 
Morning  Herald!     Latest  'count  of  'lection. 

CLEV.  reads.     "  New  York,  November  seventh,   ninety- 
four. 

One  hundred  Populist  Congressmen 
Elected  from  the  South  and  Western  States; 
Seven  Governors  and  Legislatures, 
Same  stripe,  insuring  as  many  Senators 
For  People's  Party  in  the  coming  Congress," 
0,  great  Caesar!     Where  is  thy  brazen  shield? 
And  almighty  hand  that  smote  the  Romans, 
Give  me  nerve  for  such  portend  occasions! 
This  rough  raid  against  my  policy 
Must  backward  move,  or  ninety-six  will  see 
These  robbers  running  this  great  Government! 
So,  by  the  great  eternal,  I  will  smash 
It  with  an  iron  hand,  or — best  perchance, 
It  is  to  use  John  Sherman  policy. 
"  To  be,  or  not  to  be,"  is  now  the  burning 
Question.     Perhaps  this  hungry,  scurvy  crew 
Of  nondescripts  can  be  seduced 
By  favors  from  my  purse  or  patronage — 
At  all  events  I'll  try  it  on. 

[  Writes.] 

Here,  Ned!     Be  quick,  and  take  this  note  to  that 
Old  ranting  rancher,  Jerry  Simpson. — 
This  does  surely  let  me  down  an  inch  or  two 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  179 

In  my  conceit,  to  eat  black  crow  at  my 
Own  table,  hot  swallowed  and  repulsive! 

Enter  SIMPSON.     (Aside.) 

I  wonder  why  I  am  thus  call'd  to  this 
Detested  presence?     Perhaps  the  late  elections 
Paved  the  way  to  Grover's  stony  heart? 

CLEV.     Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Simpson;  take 
A  seat—  but  why  in  thunder  came  you  here 
All  sere  and  sockless  as  a  strutting  stork? 
Had  you  but  mentioned  your  disparity 
I  would  have  sent  you  some  of  my  best  silks. 

SIMP.     No  offense  intended,  your  excellency, 

But  as  to  living  in  your  musty  hose, 

I'll  simply  say  I'm  better  housed  at  home, 

Unless,  perchance,  I  go  fishing  down 

To  Buzzard's  bay  and  need  an  ample  tent. 

CLEV.     Pray  let  that  pass  with  wine  and  nuts 
For  two,  and  down  to  urgent  business. 

SIMP.     "  Let  them  pass  with  wine  and  nuts  for  two," 
Old  socks,  with  wine,  perhaps,  'twere  good  for  you, 
But  my  poor  stomach  will  not  take  such  draughts. 
What's  this  great  business  boom  and  so  portend? 

CLEV.     Well,  laying  jokes  aside,  I  wish  to  know 
If  you  would  like  an  English  mission — 
One  to  Germany;  or  if  the  Russian 
Eagles  suit  you  better,  just  say  the  word. 
They're  all  submissive  to  your  pleasure. 

SIMP  (Aside.)     Well,  did  you  ever.     No,  I  never! 
CLEV.     What,  friend  Simpson,  think  you  of  my  offer? 


180  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

There's  not  a  man  in  this  broad,  sunny  land 
Who  would  not  tumble  to  it  all  at  once. 

SIMP.     Did  your  father  die  with  rabies? 
And  was  your  mother  witch-burned? 

CLEV.     How  dare  you  talk  so  lightly  of  my  kin? 
If  'twas  not  for  this  damn'd  diplomacy — 
Observed  in  all  affairs  of  state — I'd  kick 
You  tumbling  from  my  injured  presence. 

SIMP.     No  reflection  was  intended — only  this: 

I  could  not  well  account  the  parents  of 

A  son  like  you  to  be  right-minded, 

Or  having  souls  of  good  intent,,  so  large 

As  spider  woof,  or  chigger  feet. 

CLEV.     Then  are  you  so  insane  as  thus  to  jeer 
At  my  prodigious  offer?     O,  ye  Gods! 
What  fools  thou  makest  of  some  people! 

SIMP.     Say,  Cleveland!     What  the  devil  are  you 
Driving  at?     You  seem  to  take  me  for 
A  cur,  that  thinks  of  naught  but  falling  crumbs 
And  venison  haunches  half  consumed! 
You  call  me  friend,  when  all  the  friendship  now 
Between  us  could  be  heated  by  a  polar 
Glacier.     This  you  know;  and  yet  you  have 
The  cheek  to  offer  me  a  shining  place 
In  that  magnanimous  way  the  devil 
Offered  Christ  possession  of  the  world! 
I  see  your  brazen  purpose;  'tis  a  bribe 
To  break  this  hold  upon  my  people 
And  stay  their  growing  hopes  of  some  relief 
From  God  and  honest  human  effort. 
You  wish  for  me  to  go  and  kennel  with 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  181 

The  hounds  of  old  perfidious  Albion, 

Wear  knee  pants,  full  frills  and  powder'd  hair; 

Bend  obeisance  to  sham  shuttlecocks, 

And  lick  the  hand  of  rotten  royalty. 

No,  never,  while  my  name  is  Simpson! 

I'd  rather  live  upon  my  mortgaged  farm; 

Plod  the  turning  furrows  for  my  bread; 

Pay  usury  to  help  the  greed  of  man, 

Than  wear  the  velvets  of  an  aping  snob. 

My  people  sent  me  here  to  aid  their  cause, 

To  check  the  hellish  current  of  your  laws, 

And  back  destruction's  roll  upon  destroyers-. 

My  country's  cause  is  mine,  my  conscience  is 

My  guide,  and  may  the  harpies  hang  me 

When  I  shirk  or  budge  an  inch  from  duty. 

With  eyes  half  open  you  should  plainly  see 

The  coming  doom  of  those  who  plot  and  thwart 

The  public  will.     Honored  hast  thou  been 

Above  all  hope  of  common  men,  and  yet 

An  ingrate  art  thou — coldly  plotting  for 

The  favored  few,  while  want  and  ruin's 

Running  riot  in  the  gaping  land. 

God  rules,  and,  like  His  raging  storms,  full  bred 

In  foul  and  stagnant  air  cycloning  all 

The  filthy  plague  spots  from  the  reeking  earth — 

So  thou,  great  wonder  of  compound  conceit, 

Shalt  surely  feel,  full-forc'd,  the  drifting  scourge 

Of  public  scorn,  and  chaos  come  to  all 

Your  schemes  and  shameless  villainies. 

Exit  SIMP. 

CLEV.     Zounds!  If  this  does  not  amaze  me  much! 
A  sere,  and  sockless  hay-seed,  cradled  in 
The  western  blizzards,  toiling  daily  for 


182  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

His  stinted  bread,  in  fields  of  corn  all  split 
And  splintered  up  by  driving  storms  of  hail; 
With  zero  for  a  bedroom,  brac'd  about 
With  dung  heaps  running  to  the  ridge  pole. 
Refusing  with  disdain  an  English  mission 
From  my  generous  hand!     Perhaps  I  do 
Mistake  these  sturdy  people?     Can  it  be 
That  virtue  hath  a  hold  on  men  thus  bred 
And  born  in  want  and  mortgaged  homes, 
Above  the  price  of  gold  or  stately  hold? 
If  this  be  so,  and  all  the  toiling 
Millions  of  the  land  should  reach  the  meat 
And  inwardness  of  these  fine  schemes  of  ours — 
Well  seasoned  for  the  men  who  feast  and  rule — 
Pandemonium  would  break  out  in  spots 
As  big  as  sovereign  states,  and  woe  betide 
The  small  and  greater  rascals  of  us  all! 
But  then  why  cow  at  such  disorder'd  thought, 
Some  there  may  be  of  this  Simpson  kind 
Who  value  honor  more  than  shining  place. 
But  sure  the  gall  and  grit  of  all  the  world 
Would  make  but  few  such  hide  bound  fellows. 
Exit  CLEV. 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  VOORHEES. 

VOOR.     This  surely  does  beat  Wabash  butternuts! 
To  think  that  I  have  crawled  so  far  in  slime 
And  filth  to  sate  the  lustful  power  of  one 
whom  I  detest  in  every  move  he  makes! 
But,  like  Golgotha — lore  of  ancient  Jew — 
There  is  a  strange  oppressive  spell  that  holds 
The  will  of  everyone  who  passes  by 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  183 

The  bust  and  hoo  doo  head  of  Cleveland. 
But  then,  I've  gone  so  far  in  eating  dirt 
My  master  calls  upon  me  thus  to  swallow, 
That  should  I  stop  to  vomit  now,  the  world 
With  all  its  gaping  jaws,  would  know  the  part 
I've  played  in  this  unpleasant  business. 
And  so  I'll  keep  my  counsel  to  myself 
And  gang  me  further  homeward. 

Enter  HILL.     (Runs  up  against  Voorhees.^) 

HILL.     Hello,  stranger!  Who  are  you,  thus  prowling 
In  this  gloomy  wood  so  late  at  night? 

VOOR.     And  you,  who  keeps  me  butting  company? 

HILL.     Just  lost  my  way  in  passing  through  this  place. 
And  may  the  devil  take  us  both  if  there's 
Design  or  any  mischief  in  our  blood! 

VOOR.     No  mischief  prone  in  me  of  any  kind; 
No  more  than  in  a  lonely  suckling  dove 
That's  hunting  for  its  truant  mother. 

HILL.     Then  on  this  theme  we  are  agreed, 
But  who  are  you  in  name  or  deed? 

VOOR.     Long  Dan,  a  senator  from  the  Wabash. 
Now,  may  I  know  your  name  and  place? 

HILL.     You  should  remember  Hill  from  Gotham  old. 

VOOR.     And  so  we  meet  as  if  by  chance,  and  since 
We  do  thus  meet,  pray  let  us  have  a  talk 
About  our  pique  and  little  differences, 
And  try  regain  the  friendship  once  we  knew. 
And  to  begin,  I'll  ask  quite  pleasantly, 


184         POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

Why  do  you  drub  me  with  your  stinging  tongue 

Whenever  you  can  make  a  run  upon 

The  President;  in  faith,  I  do  but  grin 

And  chuckle  every  time  you  slaughter  him. 

To  save  the  party  I  have  stuck  to  this 

Old  fraud  through  thick  and  thin  and  taken 

All  the  prods  and  gads  and  jeers  of  hate 

From  every  cutting  tongue,  and  thus  impal'd 

I've  walked  the  Senate  floor,  and  in  the  streets, 

Like  a  lion  wounded  in  defense  of  that 

He  hates,  and  scowls  at  all  observers. 

In  favoring  schemes  and  selfish  ends  of  his, 

I've  ruined  all  my  future  hope  of  place. 

So  on  the  Wabash  all  my  power's  gone; 

Friends  once  counted  dear  do  turn  upon  me 

With  a  glare  which  says  as  plain  as  words, 

"  What  next  do  you  design  in  villainy?  " 

I  gave  my  aid  in  striking  silver  down 

To  sate  the  greed  of  this  great  monster. 

Detested  always  have  I  stocks  and  bonds, 

And  yet  in  haste  did  I  excuse  Carlisle 

For  issuing  them.     Cleveland  wished  my  aid 

And  so  I  gave  it  like  a  slave  regarding 

Nothing  but  his  master's  stubborn  will. 

I  have  upheld  the  Wilson  bill,  as  one 

Large  fraught  with  Democratic  principle, 

When,  in  fact,  it  is  a  patchwork  of 

Concessions,  dovetailed  in  together  with 

As  many  cuts  and  colors  as  the  rainbow, 

And  now  as  void  of  justice  as  the  devil 

Holding  court  to  judge  a  wayward  soul. 

HILL.     Well,  Dan,  in  truth,  with  all  my  heart  I  do 
Forgive  you,  as  I  wish  to  be  forgiven. 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  185 

Circumstances  held  you  down  before 

That  hope  destroyer,  till  faith  no  longer  lives 

For  him  who  has  betrayed  a  sacred  trust. 

You  know  I've  hated  G  rover  Cleveland  as 

The  devil  does  a  holy  sacrament. 

I  will  admit  the  chief  degree  of  gall 

Was  pour'd  into  my  cup  two  years  ago, 

When  he  did  rob  me  of  my  rightful 

Nomination,  now  my  hope  is  gone, 

Because  he's  left  no  rallying  point 

In  all  the  chaos  of  Democracy. 

And  so  I  have  declared  in  every  case — 

Save,  of  course,  that  hypocritical 

Episode  so  recently  on  the  boards. 

Bill'd  there  to  fully  boost  me  back  into 

The  party's  lead  and  thinning  ranks  again — 

The  canvass  now  is  on  for  ninety-four, 

And  we  are  out  the  field  of  politics. 

The  race  goes  hot  between  the  rotten  G.  0.  P's 

And  sanguine  Populists  who  ranting  run; 

But  since  old  Tammany  can  never  get 

The  lion's  share  of  spoils  the  present  year, 

We'll  have  to  skulk  in  camp,  while  watching  wait, 

And  live  on  Gotham  blood  and  little  windfalls. 

VOOR.      Well,    since   old  Wabash  seems  with  Weaver's 

crowd, 

I'l  leave  my  party  in  its  shroud 
And  go  that  way  as  well. 

Exit  HILL  and  VOOR. 


186  POEMS   OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

ACT    III. 

Enter  LAMONT  and  CLEV. 

CLEV.     Glad  to  see  you,  Dan.     How  prospers  now 
Your  drills  and  mobilizing  of  the  raw 
Recruits.     A  crisis  seems  to  be  at  hand, 
And  we  must  be  prepared  to  choke  it  down. 

LAM.     The  army's  safe  as  frozen  cider, 
But  this  election  news  is  very  bad. 

CLEV.     How  so? 

LAM.     Have  you  not  heard  reports  now  coming  in, 
Relating  how  some  dozen  States  have  gone 
To  Weaver's  ilk,  insuring  to  his  clan 
Election  and  the  loss  of  place  to  all 
Who  hold  them  now,  including  some  control 
Of  Senate  and  the  House,  and  two  years  hence 
Will  see  you  boosted  from  your  chair  unless 
The  army  aids  us  all  in  holding  it. 

CLEV.     0,  great  gospel  of  the  holy  prophets! 
Do  you  tell  me  truly?     And  if  so, 
What  provision  shall  we  make  to  thwart 
The  purpose  of  these  ranting  lunatics? 

LAM.     'Tis  true  as  heaven's  everlasting  law 
That  no  effect  can  come  without  a  cause. 
As  to  the  course  we  should  pursue  in  this 
Emergency  I  will  say,  with  anxious  care — 
Companion  and  stepmother  of  discretion — 
We  can  with  ease  control  the  rising  tide. 
But  first:  confusion  worse  confounded  must 
Be  wrought  by  punching  up  to  boiling  heat 
The  foul  fag  ends  of  hate  and  party  feud, 


GROVER    THE   FIRST.  187 

And  egging  on  the  servile  press  to  breed 

A  doubt  within  the  public  mind  as  to 

The  count  in  every  State,  where  pretext  can 

Discover  ample  way.     We  have,  you  know, 

Some  blanket  dailies  yet  remain  with  us, 

Which  strike  the  licks  that  ring  around  the  world; 

And.  then  the  weekly  town,  and  Rural  Press 

Is  mostly  in  our  hands,  all  purchased  with 

Cheap  ads  of  stocks,  and  nostrums,  notes 

On  banking,  finance  news  and  charity 

Gifts  by  plutocratic  cormorants — 

All  prepared  to  order  by  our  agents. 

With  these  great  aids  combin'd  in  our  behalf, 

Wisely  used  in  casting  doubt  upon 

The  votes  returned  from  sources  other  than 

Our  own,  clash  will  come  the  public  mind 

And  cleave  asunder  honest  men,  who  wish 

Always  to  guard  the  right,  but,    when  deceiv'd 

And  wrought  to  heat  by  fakes  and  cunning  lies, 

Do  battle  for  the  wrong  with  nerves  of  steel. 

And  then  will  chaos  come,  and  if  we  do 

Not  lose  our  mother  wit  we'll  win  the  fight. 

The  hand-to-hand  contest  that  we  shall  have 

To  meet  will  be  a  struggling,  howling  mob. 

Half  crazed  by  rum  and  gnawing  hunger.     Then 

With  brazen  cannon  set  in  every  street, 

With  stomachs  loaded  full  of  shot  and  shell, 

We'll  leave  no  place  but  death  or  gaping  hell 

For  those  who  dare  to  stand  before  them. 

The  army  proper,  fifty  thousand  strong, 

Well  drilled,  is  ready  now  for  action. 

The  country's  quotas  now  are  coming  in, 

Full  fifty  thousand  more,  disciplined 

On  the  road,  which  I  shall  hold  reserve 


188  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

In  fort  and  camp  for  this  emergency. 

With  lavish  hand  we've  used  the  money 

Meted  out  to  us,  upon  those  raw  recruits; 

And  then,  by  special  dispensations, 

Lined  we  the  pockets  of  commandants 

With  these  bright  eagles,  until  love  of  gain 

Has  sapped  the  soul  of  patriotism 

And  left  but  bones  and  skin  as  cover  for 

A  whitened  sepulcher,  wherein  did  dwell 

The  heart's  enthroned  divinity. 

For,  as  you  know,  this  shining  gold  will  gnaw 

The  conscience  out  of  every  one  of  us, 

As  does  a  cancer  eat  away  the  flesh 

Of  one  who  struggles  with  a  deathly  grasp, 

Until  his  body  rots  in  its  embrace! 

So,  in  this  swim  of  life  and  living  well, 

These  God-like  men  have  devil  turned 

Beyond  control  of  common  decency, 

And  with  their  belching  guns  and  spears  in  hand 

Will  coldly  cleave  asunder  friend  or  foe 

Who  dares  obtrusion  on  their  mettle. 

The  forts  around  this  city  are  secure, 

Full  provisioned,  guns  well  trained, 

With  shot  and  shell  sufficient  for  a  siege. 

CLEV.     Good  report,  my  loyal  secretary! 

Now,  buckle  on  your  armor  for  the  fray. 

Ends  well  all  things  well  ordained. 

How  long  this  strain  will  last  no  one  can  tell; 

But  when  the  break-up  comes,  as  come  it  must, 

Be  sure  our  fortunes  move  upon  the  flood 

As  onward  float  we  on  this  turbid  stream, 

Or  else  the  eddies  near  the  shore 

Will  find  us  helpless  circling  with  them. 


GROVER   THE    FIRST.  189 

•  • 

And  now,  farewell,  till  out  of  chaos  comes 
Subjection  to  my  will,  and  rule  supreme 
Over  all  these  warring  elements. 
Exit  LAM. 

CLEV.  (meditating.)     And  so  the  game  is  set,  and  I  must 

roll 

For  all  the  pins,  and  if  I  miss  the  mark, 
My  head  may  roll  from  off  my  shoulders! 

Re-enter  LAM.  (excited.) 
LAM.     Your  excellency,  our  cause  is  lost. 

CLEV.     Lost? 

How  dare  you  tell  me  such  a  tale  as  this, 

When  just  a  moment  since  you  said  that  all 

Was  well  and  everything  on  top?     And  now 

You  say  our  cause  is  lost!     What  ails -you,  man? 

Fright  has  surely  taken  all  your  wits 

Away,  or  else  I  can  but  call  you  mad. 

LAM.     Yes,  mad,  and  lost  beyond  redemption! 

For  full  two  years  we've  both  been  worse  than  mad, 

We've  run  at  large  while  madmen  should  be  lock'd 

Beyond  the  call  of  harm;  but  being  mad 

And  loose,  we  have,  for  lust  of  power, 

Maddened  sixty  million  people,  who 

Are  now  to  be  aveng'd  for  ruin  wrought 

By  us,  to  fiends  or  devils  turned. 

And  so  the  streets  are  full  of  wild-eyed  men, 

All  struggling,  yelling  come  they  up  to  this 

White  mansion,  full  intent  to  take  us  hence 

For  swinging  rope  or  bloody  guillotine? 

And  then,  again,  it  does  appear  that  God 

Has  so  ordained  it  that  the  soul  of  man 

Shall  break  from  shining  shekels  when  the  test 


190  POEMS    OF    LOVE    AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

Does  come  between  betrayal  of  the  rights 

Divinely  planted  in  each  human  breast — 

The  love  of  home  and  largest  liberty — 

And  men  with  cunning  measures  meting  out 

Destruction  to  all  rights  and  forms  and  laws, 

By  themselves  dictated  and  imposed. 

And  thus  the  raAv  recruits  on  which  we  did 

Depend  for  aid  in  this  emergency 

Have,  as  one  man,  ignor'd  this  volunteered 

Subserviency,  and  from  the  smoldering 

Embers  of  their  early  love  of  home  and  truth 

Have  kindled  up  a  fire,  that  greater  grows 

Behind  each  flying  spark  of  precious  time, 

And  in  this  swimming  rush  of  discontent 

The  heavy  jaws  of  fate  are  closing  back 

Upon  our  hopes  and  forms  like  earthquake  cracks 

Upon  lost  victims,  sifted  in  them. 

And  so  the  fruit  of  all  this  hellish  work, 

More  bitter  than  the  gall  nuts  from  Aleppo, 

Press  our  pallid  lips  for  tasting. 

CLEV.     Is  this  handwriting  on  the  wall  like  that 
Belshazzer  saw?     It  looks  that  way  just  now. 
The  seas  of  want  and  hate  are  running  high, 
And  all  the  tides  at  once  seem  striving  for 
The  topmost  roll,  as  on  and  on  they  come, 
While  stand  exulting  devils  chuckling  in 
The  breakers  nearer  shore,  awaiting  there 
To  gather  in  another  crop  of  fools. 
It  cannot  be  that  we  are  lost  in  this 
Amazing  strut  of  cranks  and  trades  and  long 
Haired  yeomen,  lately  so  much  cowed 
That  you  could  kick  them  in  the  streets  like  curs. 
And  send  them  howling  to  their  dirty  holes. 


GROVER    THE    FIRST.  ^ 

Lament,  I  wish  to  know  where  are  those  men 
With  minds  prodigious,  trustful,  great  and  true, 
Whom  I  have  chosen  for  my  counsellors? 
I  need  their  aid  to  help  me  bind  a  load 
Of  retribution  on  the  backs  of  this 
Unyielding  people,  till  they  cry  aloud 
For  peace  and  rest  from  many  ills  by  me 
Inflicted  on  them  for  their  jeering  hate 
And  disobedience  of  my  sov'reign  will 
In  all  affairs  affecting  this  great  state. 

LAM.     Most  of  them  have  made  provision  for 
Themselves.     A  Wall  street  banker  gives  Carlisle 
The  second  place  for  favors  and  support. 

CLEV.     Devilish  cheap  for  such  subserviency! 

LAM.     The  trusts  have  given  Olney  great  retainers; 
The  G.  0.  P's.  have  Gresham  in  their  fold  again; 
Hoke  goes  cotton  planting  down  in  Georgia; 
The  howling  hayseeds  in  the  woolly  West 
Have  stripped  poor  Morton  to  the  tender  skin, 
And  now  he's  bathing  in  his  wife's  great  tub 
'To  get  the  tar  and  feathers  off  of  him; 
Brave  Herbert's  got  the  Charleston  out  to  sea 
To  rid  himself  of  your  good  pleasure; 
Wilson's  bad  digestion  of  his  tariff  bill 
Has  given  him  the  gripes;  Dan  Voorhees'  corpse 
Was  found  this  morning  floating  in  the  river, 
Lashed  on  lengthwise  to  a  Wabash  sapling, 
There  being  no  more  schemes  of  greed  to  hatch, 
Or  corporation  pipes  to  lay  along 
The  lonesome  avenues  of  ruin'd  trade. 
John  Sherman's  waddled  off  to  Canada 
With  all  the  boodle  he  caii  carry. 


192  POEMS   OF   LOVE   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

And  so  your  excellency  and  myself 

Are  all  that's  left  of  that  great  clan  of  men 

Who  tried  in  vain  to  hold  a  nation  down 

By  blasting,  as  with  fire  and  racking  scourge, 

Each  growing  hope  or  prospect  of  relief, 

That  we  might  ride,  rough  shod,  with  gad  arid  spur, 

The  hag  of  fortune  over  it. 

CLEV.     Get  out  with  all  your  rot!    I'll  have  no  more. 

Betrayed  me,  have  you,  as  a  dog  deserts 

His  master  in  the  midst  of  howling  wolves? 

I  will  not  yield!     There's  nothing  lost  to  me 

That  this  strong  arm  cannot  recover. 

God  rules  the  seas  and  circling  universe, 

But  not  more  surely  than  I  rule  this  people. 

Woe  supreme  may  shadow  all  the  earth, 

Hell  gnaw  out  the  solid  bowels  of 

The  rock-ribbed  hills,  and  burn  to  dross 

The  Alps,  the  Andes  and  great  Everest, 

But  all  these  ills  compounded  into  one 

Shall  not  deter  me  from  my  onward  course 

In  this  great  game  of  rule  or  ruin. 

Expectant  troops  await  my  coming  now 

In  fort  and  field.     I  will  assume  command 

As  Caesar  did  on  like  occasion — 

Break  through  this  seething  mass  of  maddened  men 

With  shot  and  shell,  and  show  the  gaping  world 

A  hero  never  yet  surpassed! 

LAM.     Too  late  your  fervor  comes  to  stay  the  tide. 

Of  human  wrath,  that  sweeps  upon  us 

Like  a  raging  sea,  relentless,  'round 

A  shivered  vessel  in  midocean. 

These  jarring  walls  their  purpose  do  portend, 


GROVER    THE   FIRST.  193 

Like  bloodhounds  on  the  track  of  some  great  game, 

Long  baffling  them  in  hot  pursuit  of  it. 

Do  now,  with  lolling  tongues  and  panting  breath, 

Cavorting,  yelp  and  bay  around  a  hole 

In  which  the  monster  has  found  lodgment. 

And  thus  it  is  with  thy  commanding  self. 

So,  if  no  way  of  exit  can  be  found, 

You  will  surely  swing  to  Hades  from  the  arm 

Of  injured  Justice,  long  by  you  defied. 

Exit  LAM. 

CLEV.     With  all  my  ponderous  weight  of  gall, 

I  must  admit,  in  truth,  that  I  have  been 

An  aping  fool — fed  on  presumption  born 

Of  mind  disordered  by  a  tickled  sense 

Of  great  importance,  strutting  as  a  king 

Supreme,  and  lost  to  all  discretion! 

I've  sought  to  lead  in  schemes  outspoken 

When  common  sense  would  call  an  honest  man 

To  follow  in  the  wake  outlined  by  Truth 

On  every  day  of  my  conceited  rule. 

I've  warmed  a  viper  in  my  breast  that's  stung 

Me  deathly.     Now,  there  seems  no  certain  cure 

Or  antidote  to  take  away  the  sting. 

And  so  just  retribution  finds  me  here, 

Undone,  disgrac'd,  alone  in  grief  and  fear, 

With  some  returning  sense  of  conscience  lost. 

So  now,  with  not  a  mourner  by  my  tide, 

I  go  to  dregs  and  endless  infamy. 

And  if  I  can  to  find  a  crack  or  hole, 

That  I  may  pull  in  after  me. 


List  of  Miscellaneous  Publications 

...OF... 

THE  WHITAKER  &  RAY  COMPANY 

San  Francisco 

Complete  Descriptive  Circular  sent  on  application 

Postpaid  Prices 

Adventures  of  a  Tenderfoot— H.  H.  Sauber $100 

About  Dante — Mrs.  Frances  Sanborn      -------  100 

Among  the  Redwoods— Poems— Lillian  H.  Shuey        -       -       -       -  25 

Beyond  the  Gates  of  Care— Herbert  Bashford   -----  l  00 

Backsheesh— Book  of  Travels— Mrs.  William  Beckman      -       -       -  1  50 

California  and  the  Californians — David  Starr  Jordan     -  25 

Care  and  Culture  of  Men— David  Starr  Jordan 150 

Chants  for  the  Boer— Joaquin  Miller 25 

Complete  Poetical  Works  of  Joaquin  Miller     -       -       -       -       -  2  50 

Crumbs  of  Comfort— Allie  M.  Felker                                    -  1  00 
California's  Transition  Period— S.  H.Willey               -       -       -       -100 

Doctor  Jones'  Picnic— S.  E.  Chapman          ------  75 

Delphine  and  Other  Poems— L.  Adda  Nichols               -       -       -       -  1  00 

Educational  Questions— W.  C.  Doub    -------  l  00 

Forty-Nine— Song— Lelia  France 10 

Forget-Me-Nots— Lillian  L.  Page     -  50 

Guide  to  Mexico— Christobal  Hidalgo       -       - 50 

Hail  California— Song— Josephine  Gro 10 

History  of  Howard  Presbyterian  Church— S.  H.  Willey         -       -  1  00 

Life— Book  of  Essays— John  R.  Rogers -  1  00 

Love  and  Law — Thos.  P.  Bailey          _--_____  25 

Lyrics  of  the  Golden  West— W.  D.  Crabb                                 -  1  00 

Main  Points— Rev.  Chas- R.  Brown      -       -       -       -               -       -       -  1  25 

Man  Who  Might  Have  Been— Rev.  Robt.  Whitaker  25 

Matka  and  Kotik— David  Starr  Jordan     -       -       -                               -  1  50 

Modern  Argonaut— L.  B.  Davis 100 

Missions  of  Neuva  California— Chas.  F.  Carter    -                               -  1  50^ 

Pandora— Mrs.  Salzscheider      ---       -       -       -               -       -  100 

Percy,  or  the  Four  Inseparables— M.  Lee 100 

Personal  Impressions  of  Colorado  Grand  Canyon             -       -  1  00 

Rudy ard  Reviewed— W.J.Peddi cord       -                                             -  1  00 

Seven  Ages  of  Creation 250 

Some  Homely  Little  Songs— A.  J.  Waterhouse      -  125 

Songs  of  the  Soul— Joaquin  Miller -  100 

Story  of  the  Innumerable  Company— David  Starr  Jordan       -       -  1  25 

Sugar  Pine  Murmurings— Eliz.  S.  Wilson  -               -  1  00 

Training  School  for  Nurses— A.  Mabie 50 

Without  a  Name— Poems— Edward  Blackmail  -----  1  00 

Wolves  of  the  Sea— Poems— Herbert  Bashford 1  00 

LATEST  ISSUES 

Interviews  with  a  Monocle —Leopold  Jordan                                     -  f>o 

My  Trip  to  the  Orient— Rev.  J.  C.  Simmons  1  50 

Rearing  Silkworms  — Mrs.*  Carrie  Williams   -                               -  1   25 

Western  View  Series,  No.  i  —  San  Francisco  Views         -  15 

Western  View  Series,  No.  2  — Alaska  Views           .....  15 


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